


Free the robin

by J_Antebellum



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: 20 months post Career of Evil, Babies, Domestic Violence, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Kidnapping, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2019-04-04
Packaged: 2019-07-04 23:09:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 63,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15851322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Antebellum/pseuds/J_Antebellum
Summary: 20 months after the end of CoE, Robin and Matthew have vanished completely and Strike's business, as he focused on trying to bring Robin from the ashes, has crumbled to the ground, forcing him to live with his best friends Nick and Ilsa Herbert and their 8-months-old twins Mackenzie and Jordan, as he hasn't got a penny. All Strike can think of is finding where the hell Robin is, convinced something bad must've happened for her to lose all contact with everyone, even her family, and all Robin can think of is bringing herself home.





	1. Chapter 1

An insistent knock on the door pulled Strike from his concentrated investigation, and he jerked to see the door open slightly and Ilsa peek in with an eight-months-old baby boy in her arms. Jordan's green-blue eyes moved to Strike as his expression looked serious.

“Oggy,” Ilsa gave him a familiar look between sadness and mercy. “Come for dinner.”

“Just one moment, I think I'm close,” came Strike's reply. Ilsa frowned lightly.

“You've been saying that for the past year and a half, Oggy. Please, come have dinner with us.” Strike sighed but nodded and stood up, leaving his laptop on the desk of his bedroom, which was filled with papers all over, and on a wall, a cork board with Robin's photograph, a map of the UK, and several investigative notes.

Strike resigned himself and followed Ilsa and Jordan through the brand new, big house, to the dining room. There, Nick was already sitting and feeding Jordan's twin, Mackenzie. Dinner was filled with small-talk. In the twenty months, Strike had them counted, since he had last seen Robin, he sometimes had felt guilty. About not having done enough to keep her away from Matthew, about having let himself fail and be ruined, about being the weight in his best friends' shoulders, without whom he'd have to sleep in Lucy's guest room, about not being able to put a penny into the house and being the reason the Herberts had had to tighten the belt and buy a new house, bigger, so Strike could stay with them now that they were parents of twins.

However, every-time guilt crept its way into Strike, he reminded himself that this situation was Matthew's fault, and that all he was doing and all the Herberts were doing was so he could find Robin and bring her home, soon.

“When is going to come the day,” started Nick once his daughter was fed and he could leave her on the ground to play with her brother, “that you will accept Robin simply left on her own free will and is not coming back?”

“Never!” grumbled Strike. “I know Robin, she would never do this, and you've seen how hysterically worried the Ellacotts are. I've told you a million times, everyone knows this is not like her.”

“Well, Oggy, we're all worried about her, obviously,” Ilsa sighed. “But we worry about you too. You're throwing your whole life away just to find her, which is sweet of you, but it's not like you either to fully depend on our generosity.”

“If you don't want me here, I can always go back to C-,”

“You know it's not about that,” Ilsa hissed. She hated having her kindness put in doubt. “Cormoran, look at yourself. It's been twenty months, you're underweight, you hardly ever shave anymore, you've aged like twenty years, you've grown grey hair, you have not one penny, not even a bank account any longer, you have no house aside from this one, no office, no job, absolutely nothing, and you're thirty-eight. You look sick and you get sick pretty often as well because you take such poor care of yourself. We love Robin and if all we can do to bring her home is make sure you stay alive so we will, we would even if it was just for our friendship, but we hate the way you're being so careless with yourself.”

“Yes, mate,” Nick looked sadly at Strike. “If you don't take better care of your own life, then, what's going to happen to Robin when you get so sick you can no longer look for her?”

Strike sighed, looking at the plate he had barely touched and rubbing a face full of exhaustion signs with a hand.

“What I do for Robin, is nothing I wouldn't do for any of you, your children, or anyone of my family,” murmured Strike, then he looked up. “You don't know what it is when you're thinking of taking a break to eat or sleep and all that comes to your mind is that Robin is all alone somewhere, possibly dead or hurt, unable to escape her situation despite how smart, strong and skilled she is, which is enough indicative of how shitty her situation must be, and know that I am her only hope. Literally. Police wasn't interested. I got Wardle and Anstis to look it up and wind-up telling me and the Ellacotts that we had to accept things and move on, and my friends in the army, not even Hardy, haven't been able to get a single clue of where she is. All they could clear-out was that she was probably not in the UK any longer, which leaves the entire world to search. I know you're right, I know I need to find me a flat, and money and a job, but doing those things would mean spending hours not looking for her, and the sole idea makes me sick inside. I don't get sick because I don't eat well enough, but because I can't breathe thinking someone may be hurting her, and I live every minute of my life with a knot in my throat and the impossible anxiety and anguish of knowing she's not okay, and I'm her only hope. Look, I need to search up to the last corner of the world, and I need you to work for me, bring money for me, bring food for me, give me a home. I know what I ask for is enormous and don't think I don't feel guilty every day, but I'm alone. There's nobody else to go and ask for help. Everyone gave up or simply didn't have the resources to investigate further. Everyone else has to devote time to their own lives and there's no one but me to leave it all aside and focus in bringing her home. And I will. I don't know how or when but she'll come home.”

Ilsa sighed and reached a hand to caress his cheek with tears in her eyes. Strike realised his own eyes were teary, but as he frequently had panic attacks and anxiety attacks and struggled with himself, that wasn't so rare.

“No one else loves her like you do,” whispered Ilsa. Strike took a deep breath and nodded.

“I swear to God, when Matthew appears, I'm joining you in kicking his arse,” Nick shook his head. “Fucking son of a...”

“Nick,” Ilsa warned, pointing with her head to the kids playing on the floor. Nick nodded and simply mouthed 'son of a bitch' without making a sound.

“What do you know so far Oggy?” asked Nick then, looking at his best friend.

“The Ellacotts told me they had a new house here in London when they married, that the family bought it. I've gone in and talked to literally everyone around and no one knows anything, I've pretended to be interested in buying it and registered it but they left nothing, no blood or anything,” explained Strike. “I know they lived there until October 2011, when they fully cut ties with everyone and vanished. I know Matthew quit his job, probably for one better paid but I haven't been able to find which one. He's an accountant, could be working for any company, independently, or a small business, I don't know. Hardy found out Robin's bank account was closed and he found no traces of her. No Robin Venetia Ellacott in UK has a job, owns a bank account, is subscribed to anything, has anything in her name, not even a house or a phone service, so I suspect everything is in Matthew's name now, but Hardy couldn't find anything of his in the UK either, so he thinks they're not here anymore. I managed to track them to Birmingham and I know they lived there very briefly, some neighbours said they were a quiet pair and that they only saw Robin once. Ever since, nothing. Twenty months and no signs. Robin doesn't even have a mail account any longer for what I could find out, and Matthew has made sure that nothing in the internet indicates where he is. And he's deleted all his social networks, Hardy and Wardle tried unsuccessfully to get them. I've also spoken with the Cunliffes in Masham, but his sister is angry as fuck and his dad has Alzheimer and can hardly remember to tie up his shoes. His sister has a daughter and insists the 'tosser' of her brother turned his back to his family and they haven't seen him again, but she said last she saw him, he had come to pick up his father's shotgun to go hunting and he never returned it, so we know he's armed.”

“Great,” said Nick full of sarcasm. “Just what we needed.” Strike nodded.

“I've made a list of all the big cities outside the UK because it feels very Matthew like to go to a big city. He was obsessed with London, Robin said, so I've taken a look to cities similarly big where one can manage with just English or French, because Matthew's family and friends said he only speaks fluently English and French. Unfortunately, that reduces things to North America, Canada, Alaska, France, Australia, Arabia, and several areas of Africa at the very least.”

“He wouldn't go to Africa,” reasoned Ilsa. “Too poor of a continent, right?”

“Yes, but at the same time I was thinking it'd make sense, same as Arabia, because there you can find very misogynistic countries that would support him forbidding his wife to have any control.”

“Get there and he won't even have to pretend their life is all flying colours because the law supports his abuse,” said Nick. Strike nodded.

“I also suspect she hasn't spoken to her family since her honeymoon,” added Strike. “They showed me texts she supposedly sent them over three months after the wedding, but I suspect Matthew wrote them. Family agrees it doesn't feel like Robin.”

“He's probably kidnapped her,” murmured Ilsa tiredly, sad. “Can't any of your friends scattered across the world with the army throw in some light?”

“They've tried,” Strike sighed. “I've asked every favour I could and then more. They're good people, they worried and looked... but couldn't find anyone similar to Robin, and she's one easy to identify.”

“She'll appear,” said Ilsa, nodding. “I know she will. She's a tough one.”

Strike looked at her. He prayed she was right.

 


	2. Frantic research

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a bit of domestic violence.

A hard slap echoed in the air before Robin felt it and collapsed to the floor, tears in her eyes. A baby cried so frantically it pained her heart.

“Please! Please, stop!” Robin begged, sobbing as she remained kneeling in front of her husband.

“Alright,” said Matthew. “I love you so much Robin, of course I will stop, I only want what's best for our family. Go get Rose and calm her down and then come back. Make sure she's sleeping before you come back.”

Robin obeyed and silently made her way through the luxurious flat to the nursery where their almost one-year-old daughter had been sleeping. Robin put on a brave face and grinned as she scooped little Rose up and kissed the top of her head. Thankfully, Rose looked just like her mother; golden hair, blue-gray eyes, her round face. She only ever reminded her of Matthew in her smile, but it was the memory of the young Matthew she'd loved that she thought of, and not the Matthew that had just slapped the shit out of her.

The baby was crying, probably scared after hearing the shouting and screaming in the other room, and Robin had to sway and sing a lullaby for her to calm down and fall back asleep. Then, Robin put it back in the crib and took a deep breath, preparing for what was waiting for her back in her bedroom. Matthew wasn't one to renovate himself; the routine was always the same. She thought of Strike, probably working in Denmark Street, angry at her for disappearing, and prayed his life was going well. Then Robin went back to their bedroom and wasn't surprised to find Matthew nude lying on their bed, already getting off, while holding a whip with one hand.

“Hurry up, I have to get back to work,” said Matthew harshly.

“Yes, sir,” Robin got rid of her clothes and got him in her mouth, working him until she knew it was time to get him inside. She accepted the rough fucking and, once it all was done, she accepted the flogging session that came afterwards, until she couldn't make a noise when she screamed, and she couldn't cry no more.

Meanwhile in Octavia Street, Wandsworth, Strike worked on bringing his best friend home, creating a list of pros and cons of every big city he could think of within the countries he knew Matthew could've managed himself in. New York, Los Angeles, Washington DC, Miami, Seattle, Portland... most cities were inevitably in North America. Then it added Vancouver or Paris, Doha, Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, Cabo, Johannesburg, Nairobi, Lagos, El Cairo... and the list went on and on. Sometimes Strike felt he was losing his mind, but he didn't care. His bedroom had the walls covered by investigation notes and theories, a whole wall was a map of each city in his list, and he kept looking at it, learning street names and buildings and trying to determine more certain areas where they could be. Kimberley Cunliffe, Matthew's sister, had said Matthew had always wanted to visit New York City. Perhaps they were there.

“Perhaps I should just go to each city and register it up and down,” murmured Strike with a death-like voice, looking lost at his walls. Nick, who had just gone to bring him cereal for breakfast, sat with him.

“Mate, Ilsa and I don't have the money for a worldwide trip, have you got any idea of how expensive travelling just to LA is?”

“But it's for Robin...

“I know Oggy, and we would love to help... but Jordan and Mackenzie won't grow up in poverty, and this plan of yours would financially ruin us. Ilsa and I work very hard to support us all up, you know that,” said Nick softly. Strike nodded slowly.

“I could try one of those crowdfunding things.”

“Yeah.”

Strike looked at his friend. Nearing forty, Nick's hair had receded a lot and he looked tired and with ageing lines across his face. He looked at Strike's wall as if the answer to their prayers was right there.

“Do you think she's dead?” asked Strike. Nick frowned at him. “Do you think the bastard killed her and threw her in some dumpster or something? Thousands vanish every day. It wouldn't be weird.”

“Do you?” retorted Nick. Strike shook his head.

“I think I'd feel it if she died. Right? Something would change...”

“Did it happen when Whittaker killed Leda?” Strike sighed.

“No.”

Strike looked at the map again, thinking deeply. They sat there in silence for a moment.

“They cannot be in Europe,” said Strike finally. “We would've found them already. You can't hide a kidnapping so easily in Europe, right?”

“You can, but...” Nick sighed, crooking his head. “Matthew in France... when we went to Paris, it didn't seem the kind of place I imagine Matthew liking. Full of tourism, and not as much love for tea.” Strike shrugged.

“North America fits him way more,” said Strike. “I agree.”

“Yeah,” said Nick. “If I was to hide, New York City seems a perfect place, who's going to find you there? Besides, you always say that the best way to hide something, is put it out in the open.”

They sat in silence for some more. Then, Strike spoke again.

“I think I need to rejoin the army. I could use their resources to find her.”

“You wouldn't have time, you'd be deployed somewhere.”

“But Nick, even if I found them, what am I going to do?” said Strike. “I'm just a detective. I have no way of protecting her.”

“You get the evidence to the police—,”

“Who won't do a thing. They don't even have jurisdiction outside UK.”

“I've yet to hear of Britain abandoning a person who's been hurt outside the country,” said Nick patriotically. Strike sighed. “Even if you were a soldier, it's not like you can just go and arrest him. You find her, we'll make a team with those we can trust and fetch Robin. She can tell Wardle and Hardy what happened, and they'll take care of Matthew.”

Strike nodded slowly. Mentioning the army and deployments had given him an idea.

“When I was in Afghanistan,” said Strike. “I was astonished by the misogyny and the way men could easily get away with being cruel to their wives. They barely have human rights there. They still hang people and shoot them. Someone like Matthew could probably get away with anything.”

“You don't think that Matthew would go to Afghanistan, do you?”

“No, of course not,” said Strike, feeling an idea blossom. The lack of success over the twenty months had put his brain into a lethargic state in which thinking simple things was difficult and ideas rarely came. It was as if with Robin, his capacity to be bright and smart had vanished too. Now, the wheels in his brain were slowly feeling like working again, even if it was just a bit. “Dave Polworth was in Qatar just now in New Year's, it was summer there. Qatar is in the Arab Emirates, right here,” said Strike, pointing at it in the map. “Dave said is an incredible place, that Doha, its capital, it's rich and and filled with luxuries. They even have a Venice imitation.”

“Of course, the Arab Emirates have that fame,” Nick nodded.

“Now that's something Matthew would like.”

“I still think North America has more probabilities.”

“But Doha has something North America doesn't have,” said Strike. “The Law accepts stoning, flogging... they do things like that, and women aren't such a big deal. They live by Islam, which forces women to be so covered Matthew could hit the shit out of Robin and no one would ever see the marks. Her bright hair, easily recognizable, would also be covered. Women don't even go to social gatherings. Think about it, if you're going to mistreat a woman, even if Qatar is between the most advanced Arabian countries, do it there and no one will blink an eye. No one will even see the bruises.”

“So now you think she's in Qatar? Seriously?”

Strike stood up on his prosthesis, getting closer to the notes-covered wall while biting his thumb nail. He slowly nodded.

“It's a long shot but I think it would give tons of advantages. Matthew could get a good job, be rich. He could easily control Robin, make sure she didn't go anywhere, and she wouldn't speak with strangers because even though you can get by perfectly fine with English, first language is Arab, and besides, if you're a foreign woman in an Islam country, you don't go around talking much with strangers, do you?” explained Strike. “In France, the States, Canada, Australia, New Zealand... beat-up a woman and if she covers herself up to hide it, everyone would suspect. Robin would be able to easily ask for help, she speaks English, French and Spanish, I mean...”

“What about Africa?” said Nick. “With that reasoning, it could also be.”

“Africa is black,” stated Strike. “Trying to hide Robin there would be like trying to hide an elephant between dogs. She's pale and freckled and with that hair...” Strike could see her so clearly in his mind, his heart ached with longing. “I recognise Qatar is a very long shot, but it could be. Doha, to be exact. Is it's biggest city.”

“Okay, say it's Doha. How do you find her there?”

Strike stroke his beard, grown long from lack of shaving, thick with unruly curls, thinking. Then as he stroke his beard, he looked down at it and got an idea.

“How many grocery stores do you think Doha's got?”

 


	3. Doha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short transition chapter, promise they will get longer. I've finally finished writing this story and it's 25 chapters long and a bit longer than a hundred word pages, so I hope you enjoy it. At the moment I'm writing the second installment. Also, Just a quick note, I don't know Doha personally, but a student of mine has moved there, so I got bits of that. I hope I'm not too unacccurate. Enjoy and thanks for the comments and support! If you like to, you can follow me in my tumblr https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/ where I basically post about Cormoran Strike and its actors, quotes, bits of Harry Potter and a tiny bit of Krashlyn (two USWNT players that are lesbian TOGETHER).
> 
> Hugs to you all!

“This is absolutely crazy,” said Ilsa, handing Strike clean laundry that he shoved into his small suitcase. “Are you seriously just going to go there and blindly search for her? Do you realise you only have a hunch?”

“I know,” Strike smiled, putting things neatly in his suitcase and bag. “Ilsa, Doha's not so big next to London, I'll just go street by street, asking in shops and stores, someone must've seen her, right? And if no one has, I'll accept I got it wrong and come back. But I have a good feeling about this.”

“You've never pursued a line of investigation with such little proof...”

“Robin deserves I pursue every little line of investigation, even vague hunches,” argued Strike. “And I got by in the army for years thanks to hunches.”

“But...”

“Ilsa, you said it yourself,” he looked at Ilsa with a smile that gave him a creepy nutter expression. “I am in love with Robin,” he recognised out-loud for the first time. “These twenty months without her have been the longest torture of my life. I'll either bring her home or go mad trying, you know?”

Ilsa sighed and nodded, pulling him into her arms.

“Be super careful, don't do anything majorly stupid,” Ilsa pulled apart and took Strike's face between her hands. “And if you do find her, give her a big hug from us and tell her we love her and we can't wait to see her again. Now go and bring our girl home.”

Nick drove Strike to the airport and gave him a big hug and wished him luck before handing him a credit card and an envelope full of money.

“Nick, I can't accept...”

“If you find her,” said Nick. “Make sure she eats, buy her something nice, get a good hotel room where she can sleep tight. If you find her, we can only assume the last twenty months of her life have been hell. Treat her like a queen.” Strike nodded and looked at Strike.

“I can't express how grateful I am for all of you guys have done for us.” Nick shrugged.

“If it was Ilsa... I would lift every stone in the world to find her. And I know you two would do it with me.”

“You can count on it.” Strike snickered and left.

The flight to Doha was almost seven hours long and Strike had the feeling that he was more awake from his slumber and haziness the closer he was to Qatar. He had a good feeling about it, and he honestly couldn't explain why Robin would be anywhere else. Now, the other countries seemed an obvious no, but Strike wondered if he was just trying to convince himself for his own sake. Once in Doha, he was to meet an old friend from the SIB who now worked in the British Embassy there and who he had once dated. As he exited the luxurious airport, Strike saw her standing, grinning, next to a big car. Erin Harris was tall and had broad shoulders. Her skin was tanned by the sun and she had dark eyes and long, black hair, even as she neared the forties. She was five years younger than Strike, and she always looked happy to see him. They were quick to engulf in a big hug.

“Ready to find your friend?” she grinned at Strike, who nodded, speechless.

Erin had a luxurious flat near the coast, and would be going back to England in the summer after a few years there, so Strike was lucky she hadn't left yet. She drove them through beige landscapes, were all the buildings were curvy and of pastel colours, blending with the desert. Once in the flat, Erin walked him to a room determined to be his during his stay, but they didn't stay long; a quick dinner and they left so Erin could show him the city a little.

They both woke up early in the morning and went to buy Strike the typical Arab dress wear. Although they both could wear anything, Strike wanted to appear the most Arab he could, so if he encountered Matthew he wouldn't suspect. Therefore, they got him a long tunic called thoub, with cotton trousers, and covered his head with the traditional gahfeya, adding the ghutra, a cloth that covered the gahfeya and fell over the shoulders, kept in place with a double black coil. Erin could only burst out in laughter when he came out of the bathroom at her flat wearing all of it, his dark beard longer than ever.

“You're either an Arabian man or a terrorist,” Erin joked, rubbing the tears off her eyes. She didn't wear any kind of traditional clothing.

“Do you think Cunliffe will recognise me?”

“I think if he sees you from afar he'll change paths rather than coming close enough to recognise you. You look scary mate.” Strike grinned.

“That's great. Now, have you found if the Embassy has any track of Robin or Matthew?”

“No,” said Erin. “I couldn't access that information and those who could won't because they said it's private and they would have to request it themselves if they even had it.”

“I imagined it,” Strike nodded. “Let's go shopping then.”

They spent hours walking through all the streets of Doha, visiting every shop and store with a photograph of Robin. Strike, who spoke fluent Arabian after his years in the army, had no problem passing as an Arabian man looking for his wife. He also asked about Matthew, claiming he thought Matthew might've hurt her. It took most of the day and they were almost giving up when Erin invited Strike to an ice-cream. They were sitting in the tables outside when they heard a baby wailing and it got both of their attention.

“Aww, that's one cute baby,” said Erin chuckling. Strike was awestruck.

The baby had big blue-gray eyes and a small amount of blondish hair... he could've sworn he knew those eyes. With his heart beating painfully hard in his chest, he looked up to the woman who was holding the baby. She was giving them her back, scooping the baby against her shoulder, wearing a piece of long clothing that covered her from head to toe, only leaving her eyes visible.

“Erin,” Strike felt his throat go dry. “That baby looks a lot like Robin.”

“You just see her everywhere,” said Erin. “Qatar is full of people from other countries. I bet the father is blonde and so is their baby.”

Then the mother turned to look around and lowered the piece of clothing that covered her mouth to kiss her baby, and Strike's heart shot to his throat.

“It's her! It's Robin!”

Erin looked around and her jaw dropped. They both saw her now, her eyes were, to Strike, impossible to miss. She looked prettier than Strike remembered her, as always, but at the same time filled with sadness, fear... and her lip had a nasty cut. Strike felt himself grow furious as he thought of what Matthew had done.

“She's got a daughter,” Erin breathed out. “Oh God, we need to talk to her...”

“No,” said Strike. “See how worried and scared she looks? Stop staring. I think she's worried Matthew might be around, or perhaps he sent someone to keep their eyes on her, make sure she doesn't speak with strangers. We'll follow her chitchatting in Arab, surveil. We'll see where she lives.”

Erin nodded and they got up, speaking Arab, nothing too complex, just talking about the weather, Qatar, football, relationships. Nothing they said had to necessarily be true, in case someone was hearing them. Robin was so out of herself she didn't notice them following, and they didn't notice anyone else following. She finally got into a skyscraper of flats.

 


	4. Let's get outta here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who gives me spoilers on Lethal White will receive a distance hug and special mentions. Love me some spoilers.

On impulse, Erin shouted to Robin in Arab, startling her. It was clear Robin didn't spoke Arab, as she was mortified and held the door of the building open for them, thinking Erin was shouting to hold up. Erin and Strike rushed in and Robin, too mortified, held the baby closer, looked down and rushed to the lifts, and they followed. Strike's heart broke seeing how small she looked, like a mouse between hungry cats. She wouldn't even look up. Once the three got into the lift, Strike cornered Robin, who looked up absolutely terrified.

“Robin, it's Cormoran,” said Strike, smiling. Robin's eyes widened and her jaw opened, she let out a sob and she threw herself into his arms, hysterically crying with the baby between them. Strike hugged her close and whispered comforting words while Erin hit all the buttons of the lift so it kept moving. No one could observe them there. “Robin, I need you to calm down. We're getting you out of here. Erin works in the Embassy's security, she can get you to a safe place. You need to talk to me real quick.”

Robin nodded.

“Oh, Cormoran... I'm so sorry...”

“Don't be,” said Strike. “Just nod or shake your head, okay?” he said, seeing as Robin couldn't stop sobbing. “Are you here on your own free will?” Shook her head. “Did Matthew, your husband, kidnap you?” Nod. “Has he been violent with you?” Nod and cry. Strike sighed. “Are you afraid of him?” Fervent nodding. “Alright, you're going to tell me where he lives and while I handle him, Erin is going to take you and your baby to a safe place and you will never have to see him again. She's a good old friend, you can trust her.”

“Is that okay with you Robin?” Erin asked full of kindness. Robin nodded, but still looked worried.

“Cormoran, he's an important man now,” said Robin. “He can hurt you, but you cannot kill him or you'll go to prison, and prison here is not flying colours.”

“It's alright, Robin,” said Strike. “I promise I won't kill him. I won't be long, I'll be soon with you.” He hugged her again and kissed her head. “Don't you worry about a thing. Erin, keep her safe, she's my life.” He didn't care Robin heard that. Erin nodded and put an arm around Robin and the baby.

“I'll see you at the flat in forty five minutes tops, alright?” said Erin. “Or I'm coming to get you.”

“Deal,” Strike nodded.

The lift opened in the ground floor and the women got out, after Robin had told Strike the floor and door where they lived. Strike then went there, pulling on gloves he had brought with him to Qatar in case he needed not to leave prints, and pulling out a gun Erin had given him. He knocked on the door, hiding the gun from sight.

Matthew, thinking it was just Robin, opened the door and then frowned, but it was late. Strike had the canon of the gun pressed against his forehead.

“What the...?” said Matthew.

“Don't give me an excuse to kill you,” grumbled Strike, angrily shoving him inside. “Are you alone?” Matthew nodded. Strike gripped his neck with one gloved hand, pressing the cannon against his forehead, and together registered the flat to ensure they were alone. Then, Strike took him to the master bedroom, and gritted his teeth at seeing a whip on the floor, both bloodstained. “Did you do that to Robin?”

“So what if I did?” Matthew teased.

“Oh I'm going to have so much fun breaking your fingers,” for the first time ever, Matthew looked genuinely scared. Strike laughed dryly. “Don't worry, I'm not a brute like you.” That said, Strike punched him on the nose, breaking it and making him fall to the ground. “However, you deserve that.”

Ignoring Matthew's protests, Strike tied him to a chair using ropes he found in the closet. He suspected Matthew had them to tie Robin, but now it was his turn. He kept him tied to the chair from head to toe, using military knots, and then made a ball with a cloth from the kitchen and stuck it into Matthew's mouth, taping his mouth closed so he couldn't speak. He tied a cloth around his head to keep him blinded and put him, with the chair, inside an enormous closet.

Strike spent the next ten minutes packing a suitcase and a few bags with all of Robin's things, as well as the baby's. He basically emptied out half house, but made sure it all looked tidy afterwards. Once he was all done, he went back to Matthew, who was silently sobbing in the closet, and left his mouth free to talk. He pulled out his phone to record his words.

“Did you take your wife, Robin Venetia Ellacott, here to Qatar, forcefully and against her will?”

“Yes, I did,” came Matthew's trembling reply.

“Tell me what exactly did you do to her.”

“After our wedding,” said Matthew. “I kidnapped her. I stole her phone and laptop, texted to her family pretending to be her, kept her locked and tied up home. For three months, she didn't see the light of day, then we found out she was pregnant,” he sobbed out. “So I decided to cut all ties to our friends and family and took her to Birmingham. Said either she obeyed or I'd kill her and the child. That I'd kill everyone she loved. She was weak after three months of kidnapping, so it was easy to take her to Qatar, and we've been here since. For... for twenty months, I think.”

“What have you done here?”

“I got a new job as an accountant for an important company, get paid lots. Robin takes care of our daughter, Rose.” Strike clenched his teeth.

“What have you done to Robin here?”

“N-nothing m-much..”

“Tell me the truth!”

“Fine!” Matthew gulped. “Fine! I... she's my sex toy, alright? She's forced to pleasure me and... she's forbidden to talk to anyone, she only goes out twice a day, one to shop and one to walk Rose. If I suspect she's tried to run away, if she does something I don't like, speaks to anyone... I beat her up.”

“I saw you have a whip. It has blood.”

“I flog her when she's a bad girl.” Said Matthew.

Strike had enough. He put things back in his mouth and locked the closet. Then, he photographed the flog with the blood, and all the traces of blood he saw here and there. He had previously photographed a closet where he had found the ropes and a series of sex-toys and BDSM like stuff before putting Matthew in said closet. Once it was all done, he found the flat keys and locked it behind himself, taking Robin's luggage with him.

He was in Erin's flat shortly.

“How are they?” asked Strike, seeing Erin was feeding baby Rose, both sitting on a rug in the living room.

“Robin's deep asleep in your room, Rosie here was hungry,” said Erin. “Robin said Rose's first birthday is next month, on the twenty-seventh. She's got British citizenship though. And, Robin needs medical attention. I did what I could, but her back is...”

“Whipped,” Strike nodded. “I know. I got a full confession in my phone.” He took his laptop and started putting every photo he had taken, and the recording, inside. “I broke his nose and got him to talk. He's now tied up to a chair inside a closer that was filled with BDSM material, it was horrifying, but I got the pictures. I'll send them straight to my friend Ilsa, she's a lawyer, and to my friend Wardle in the police.”

“Alright,” Erin nodded. “I can notify this in the embassy if you want.”

“Yes, please,” Strike nodded. “Tell them where to find Matthew. I'll look after the girls. Be careful.”

“I will tell them you had come here to ask my help to find a friend you thought her husband had kidnapped, and that we casually found Robin, followed her, and she told us what had happened, so I took her to a safe place with her daughter and you went to try and get further evidence at the flat, which you achieved.”

“Thanks,” Strike nodded.

“Should I find a doctor for Robin?”

“See if the embassy can provide someone who's female and trustworthy,” replied Strike. “She was sexually abused. She won't be comfortable with male doctors.”

“Alright. See you in a bit,” Erin then left, putting Rose on the rug next to a bunch of toys from the baby bag Strike had bought home.

Once Strike had emailed Ilsa and Wardle, and, on a second thought, Hardy, and texted them to look at their mail, Strike looked up to Rose. The little girl didn't seem injured, and was playing normally, babbling and squealing as a colourful book of her made noises, and every now and then, she looked at him, attentively, with the same fearless eyes Robin had looked at Strike in the past. He smiled at how alike they both were.

“Hello, Rosie,” said Strike sitting next to her on the floor. “I'm Uncle Corm. Do you like that book?” Rose shook the book in the air, squealing, and Strike snickered. “Careful, don't you hurt yourself. Wanna see mummy?”

Rose didn't oppose Strike when he scooped her up in his arms, checking she didn't have bruises or cuts, and walked to his bedroom. Robin was lying on her side and her eyes opened when she heard movement. She was used to not sleeping deeply.

“Cormoran?” she whispered.

“I'm here, with Rosie,” said Strike, sitting on the verge of the bed with the baby in her lap, still playing with her book, now sucking on it. He looked at Robin, who smiled tenderly at them.

“She never liked Matthew that much,” said Robin weakly. “She cried most of the time he held her.”

“Babies have a special instinct to tell who is trustworthy or not,” murmured Strike. “Erin's gone to the embassy, she'll tell the ambassador what happened so they'll take care of Matthew. I left him tied up so he wouldn't try to come after you or run away.”

“Is he...?” Robin looked panicked for a moment.

“He's not here, don't worry. I won't let him come anywhere near any of you,” said Strike. “I've also taken photographic evidence of the flat and recorded a confession from Matthew and sent it to Ilsa, Wardle and Hardy, so they start preparing your defence. We'll take you back to London today if possible. You can stay with Ilsa and Nick; I'm there as well.”

Robin listened and then nodded slowly. Then she frowned.

“Wait, you live with Nick and Ilsa? Why? What happened to the agency?”

“It sank and I officially don't have a penny,” replied Strike. “I didn't have the will to work in anything but trying to find you. Your family's been so worried. We all have. But you'll be safe home soon, both of you.”

“I'm so sorry, Cormoran.” Robin looked honestly sad.

“Don't be, this wasn't your fault, Robin. This is all Matthew's fault, he's the only one anyone will hold responsible. Now, I need to ask something of you, rather delicate.”

“Anything.” Strike gulped.

“I need to photograph your wounds and bruises. Photographic evidence of what he's done will be key to getting him in prison. I know it's not easy but...”

“I'll do it,” said Robin, and Strike thought he saw some of the old defiance back in her eyes even if it was just for a moment.

The hard part was, more than letting him take her pictures, letting him see her naked and even more, in such state. Strike set Rose to play on the ground and had all the patience in the world to let Robin take her time as he photographed her and he contained his anger and frustration and desire to kill Matthew. He wanted to be Robin and Rose's rock, to sit calm against the storm, to show the mettle and fortitude they needed, to be soft and tranquil in contrast to Matthew's bad temper. So it was elemental she didn't feel him getting worked up. There was the paleness in her face, the scratches and bruises all over her body, the scars all over, the bags under her eyes, her back completely ripped and bloody, her breasts also flogged, but only showing old scars and lines. After it was all done, Strike informed Robin a doctor was on its way, and Robin agreed to see one.

As Strike spoke to the ambassador, who came with Erin and a doctor, the doctor examined Robin and Erin looked after Rose. The door to Strike's room remained open so Robin felt safe hearing Rose, Erin and Strike in the other room, and Strike felt more pain at the complete absence from complain in Robin's side, even when he was sure the cures must be hurtful. She didn't even hiss, showing she had stood far worse than that. Then, she got dressed and spoke herself to the ambassador, confirming Strike and Erin's stories and asking for her daughter and her to be sent home. The ambassador called the police to arrest Matthew right away.

“I trust Erin can drive you back to the airport,” said the ambassador. “There's a government jet waiting there for you. All I ask is that you do not leave London for a month, so you're easily localisable and we can proceed with further questions. The embassy will defend Mr Strike's actions and we will say you went to get Robin and the baby's things and Matthew tried to attack you so you neutralised him by punching him so you could tie him up. You didn't assault the house, you went with Mrs Cunliffe's permission to fetch her things, and then you just defended yourself and immediately called us to handle it.”

“Thank you sir,” said Strike with a nod.

“You're a well-known detective and I have heard great of you as a soldier as well. I trust you with Mrs Cunliffe and Ms Cunliffe's safety. I trust you'll protect them and take them somewhere safe. They've gone through enough.”

“I've already alerted Scotland Yard,” said Strike. “I've got a friend there. They'll grant protection to the girls, and I will do whatever I can for them. We have friends who will give her a place to stay.”

Once everyone was ready and all evidence had been shared with the ambassador, who would deal with Qatari police, Erin drove Strike and the women to the airport and they bid farewell with affectionate hugs.

“Let me know when you're back in London, will you?” said Strike, Rose between his arms, a bag hung from each shoulder and a hand gripping one suitcase. Robin stood next to them pulling from two suitcases herself.

“I will. Take good care of them. And you, stay strong, you're one of a kind,” Erin carefully hug Robin.

“Thank you for everything,” said Robin. She was wearing normal clothes again, but covering her bruises so the airport security wouldn't suspect, and Strike had returned his gun to Erin.

Strike led them into the airport and they went to do the check-in of their luggage before going to the security control only carrying the two carry-on bags, that Strike carried along with Rose, holding Robin's hand in his free one. They passed through the security arch and finally were guided to the government jet. Their suitcases were already there, and they were guided to comfortable, big seats side by side.

“Wardle will pick us up at the airport,” said Strike, settling Rose, who had fallen asleep, in his lap tucked with a blanket and leaning against his chest. He was still holding one of Robin's hand on the arm of the seat. “Ilsa's called your family. There'll be back in London by the time we get there. It's a long flight.”

“I'm a bit nervous to see them all. Also excited but...” Robin sighed. “Will you make sure they don't overwhelm me, harassing with questions? I know they mean well... But I've been twenty months away from home, kidnapped. I just want to rest and introduce my girl to the family. Catch up with everyone.” Strike nodded and smiled a little, squeezing her hand.

“If you want to catch up,” said Strike, as the plane started moving. “You should know Nick and Ilsa had children. Twins Jordan and Mackenzie, they'll be a year old on Harry Potter's birthday.” Robin grinned, and for a moment all the sadness seemed to leave her face.

“For real? That's so great! They've been wanting children for long, right? I'm so happy for them. And they're about Rose's age so they'll have fun playing together. Are you sure it's alright for us all to be at their house? It's a lot of people.”

“It's fine, they offered. They have a bigger house now.” Explained Strike. They couldn't help being in silence as the plane took off and their stomachs went up to their throats. When the plane finally settled in the air, Robin sighed, looking out the window, mentally saying goodbye to Qatar forever.

 


	5. Back home

Strike woke Robin up when the captain announced the landing. She had fallen asleep hugging his arm and stirring all kinds of feelings inside of him. Two airport workers took care of their entire luggage and Robin took Rose into her arms. The baby had woken up and had been playing with Strike in the plane as Robin slept, but now she settled in her mother's arms playing with one of her wavy locks of hair. Robin's hair was now short, and although it fit her, Strike didn't comment on it imagining cutting it had been one of Matthew's ways of stripping her from herself.

Outside the plane, in the landing field, Wardle waited next to his car and Ekwensi, his work partner. They were both super happy to see them and Wardle even hugged Robin who, underweight as she was, looked super tiny in his arms. Wardle had fetched a baby car seat from a friend and Robin settled Rose there while the luggage was settled into the trunk, and then Strike and Robin occupied the remaining free seats in the back-seat and Wardle and Ekwensi the front. Robin couldn't help silently crying the entire way to Wandsworth as she saw London streets again, and commented on how much they had changed. While they drove, Erin called Strike and informed him Matthew had been arrested and, since everything had been handled between British (Robin, Strike, Rose and Matthew were all English), the embassy had gotten the Qatari to let the English handle it, so everything would be judged in London and Matthew had been put into a plane, arrested and accompanied by the police, and would be provisionally jailed in London.

Nick and Ilsa's new house was not too far from where his old house was, but was way bigger and had enormous gardens surrounding it. Their families had helped buy it, and now the couple, Linda and Michael Ellacott, stood nervously by the entrance.

“I'll take Rose, you go hug your family,” said Strike. Robin smiled thankful and the moment the car stopped, she had ran to her parents' arms and they were engulfed in a tearful hug. Robin didn't even care her back hurt with the pressure of their arms. She couldn't tell how much she'd missed them.

Strike wrapped Rose up in a blanket to shield her from the night's cold, and hug her close while Wardle and Ekwensi handled their things, and they walked to the house. Nick and Ilsa both hugged Strike and saluted Rose.

“Mum, Dad,” Robin pulled from her parents. “Say hi to your granddaughter, Rose.” Robin smiled taking her daughter and handing it to her parents. As they flipped with their granddaughter, Robin hugged Nick and Ilsa and profusely thanked them.

The family had dinner in the sitting room, comfortably sitting on the sofa. A big banquet had been prepared in Robin's honour and the Ellacotts couldn't stop thanking Strike. As they dinned, Robin asked how had she been found, and Strike explained her the whole story.

“But I don't understand,” said Robin, looking at Strike as she sat between her parents. “You basically came following a hunch? Cormoran Strike relying on hunches? What happened with needing evidence?” She teased with a snicker.

“I'm thirty-nine this year, Robin, that's long gone,” Strike smiled, happy to have her back.

“Speaking of age, what's about that beard? Rose will soon be calling you Santa,” Robin joked. She felt her mood improve by fifty in the couple hours they had been in the house.

“Like it? They call it being hipster,” Strike joked, making them laugh. “I'm just a lazy shaver, but it came in handy to pretend being Arab. You gulped it.”

“Damn yes I did, you looked scary,” Robin grinned. “So you better shave it before you get arrested.”

“Actually, I'll do it right now,” Strike had finished his dinner, so he went up and to the bathroom. Smiling to himself, he first used scissors to cut most of the beard out, leaving it to be very short, and then he shaved it until his face looked smooth and clean. His stubble would grow back soon, but at least it was just stubble, and he kind of liked it. Since he had the shaving machine at hand, he took advantage and trimmed his curly hair as well. He felt that simple act made him ten years younger.

Nick and Ilsa teased him with cheering when he came back, and the others laughed.

“Am I handsome Rosie?” Strike jokingly asked the baby, who gave him a weird look, as if trying to understand how come beardie man was no longer beardie man.

When bedtime came, the Ellacotts went to a motel nearby and Strike let Robin and Rose get comfortable in his bed. As he was about to leave her room after making sure she was comfortable, Robin stopped him.

“Cormoran,” said Robin. “Would you... would you lie down with us? There's plenty of space.”

Strike's heart jumped in his chest and he took a deep breath.

“Are you sure? I'm fine with the sofa.”

“Yes,” Robin smiled in the darkness. “Come here. Unless you really prefer the sofa.”

Strike nodded and closed the door, walking to the bed and sitting on the verge on the free side. He removed his prosthesis in the darkness and Robin lifted the duvet so he'd get underneath. Only a sleeping Rose separated them as they lied facing each other. Robin's hand moved over Rose to cup his cheek, and he froze.

“I knew you'd find us. I told Rose every single day 'one day your Uncle Corm is going to come by and bring us home'. I tried to get us out myself, multiple times... but is not so easy when is not about you anymore. When there's someone else to worry about.” Her voice was soft, barely scratching the air.

“I never stopped trying. I think today is the first day I breathe calm in twenty months. Every day I convinced myself he hadn't killed you, that it wasn't too late... and tried my best. Turns out without you I'm more like a mediocre detective.”

“Sh... don't say that. You're better than Holmes could ever be,” Robin rested her hand on his cheek. “I always told Rose, whenever Matthew wasn't nearby. I told her about London, Yorkshire, Denmark Street. About the bad guys we caught together and how smart and incredible you are. About Nick, Ilsa, and everyone else. I wanted for things to be familiar to her... but somehow I think I needed it to keep myself from going mad. I needed to remember there was another life... and that we'd get back to it someday.”

“Was he good with Rosie at least?” asked Strike. Robin's hand retired and stayed on top of Rose's belly.

“Yes,” said Robin. “I was to be in charge of her and all tasks but, when he got home from work, he liked to play with her. He made her laugh, sometimes. But most of the time, she didn't want him anywhere near. Made him furious and he took it out on me. Never once he touched her.”

“Do you have any money to start over?”

“Matthew made millions,” said Robin. “Once we divorce, I should get a good ton, right? Then I can buy a nice house for Rose to grow up in... and buy our agency back. Start over. We already brought it back from the death once, we can do it again, right?” Strike smiled and nodded. He couldn't wait for that.

“We will do,” replied Strike. “In the meantime, I'll get a job somewhere that provides. The army has always wanted me back, perhaps I can get an office job with them and then, make money for us three. Leave the Herberts, alone, right? They've broken their backs for us all these time. Took care of me and pushed me to get you back.”

“Bless them. And bless you,” Robin moved on instinct. She hovered over Rose, cupped his cheek again, and kissed his forehead. “We'll look after each other now, like we've always done, won't we?”

“Of course. Us three. We're a team,” Strike assured. Robin grinned.

“Good. Goodnight, Cormoran. Sweet dreams.

“Sweet dreams. Sleep well, girls.” Strike put a hand on Robin's hip and rested it there as they fell asleep. Robin never seemed to mind.

 


	6. This is all about animals and carrots

**[A/N: I researched in vain for the medical part of this chapter. Hopefully I wasn't too inaccurate.]**

When Strike woke up in the morning, the rain was hitting the windows angrily and he had a baby fist against his eyes, and all he could smell was baby scent. Strike looked and carefully moved the sleeping Rosie so she wasn't hitting him any longer. Robin wasn't there and it made his heart skip a beat as he quickly got off the bed, putting on his leg and putting the pillows around Rose to protect her from falling. He rushed outside his bedroom.

“Robin?” asked Strike to the air, as he rushed downstairs.

“Kitchen!” came the reply. Strike let out a breath of relief and walked more calmly to the modern kitchen. Ilsa and Robin were both dressed and chatting quietly while drinking tea, and they both smiled at him, wishing good morning.

Strike accepted tea from Ilsa and sat around the small kitchen table with them, seeing Mackenzie playing on the floor with some toys.

“Nick and Jordan?” asked Strike.

“Nick had an early shift at the hospital and Jordan is asleep upstairs,” replied Ilsa. Nick, Ilsa's husband, was a gastroenterologist. “Rosie alright?”

“She's asleep as well. How're you feeling?” Strike looked at Robin.

“Better,” replied Robin. “My parents gave me a cheque last night so I can buy a new phone and a new laptop and be back in touch with my family. They told me Matthew deleted all my social networks profiles, so I'll make new ones and catch up with my people. Kind of can't wait.”

“Well usually one spends some time trying to decide on which brands are best and all,” said Strike with a snicker.

“Oh, I just want the exact same brands I had, I guess up-to-date versions,” Robin shrugged. “Nick called his brother Spanner, and he's going to find them for me.” She added smiling.

“You know Spanner's actual name is Richard, right?” commented Ilsa. “Richie.”

“No wonder he makes everyone call him Spanner,” said Strike. “Well, I'll get ready and accompany you then, we'll find you something nice. Speaking of which, if you want, I could also take you to buy some clothes? Living in Qatar maybe you no longer have stuff for the cold.”

“I'm well stored there, thanks,” Robin looked grateful. “We should go see some doctor though, for my back.”

The two had breakfast and Ilsa went to get her babies ready for daycare and left them alone to get them there and then go to work herself. Strike and Robin prepared, got Rose feed and ready, and Strike offered to carry her in a baby carrier, so Robin was free to move around. Together, they left the house and went to meet Spanner, who had some ideas for phones and laptops for Robin. He took them through some stores, and Robin was mostly excited about walking around London again. It felt like meeting an old friend once again. After a couple hours and thanks to Spanner's expertise, they had decided on a new phone and laptop, and, biding farewell to Spanner, went back home to put them down. Robin prepared them as Rose slept and Strike prepared lunch. Ilsa and Nick frequently had lunch at work.

“So did we make good shopping?” asked Strike while cooking some scrambled eggs. Robin sat by the small table in the kitchen with Rose between her arms and her new phone and laptop in front.

“Yes!” Robin grinned. “I've already gotten a new mail account, and I'm creating a new Facebook. I'll easily find my friends and family there and will ask them for their numbers to put them in the phone once again.”

“Great,” Strike was happy to see Robin so happy. She seemed to be coming back into herself. As he approached the table with plates, Robin closed the laptop and put it aside, along with the phone. “Do you want me to get Rosie upstairs?”

“It's fine, I like having her,” said Robin leaning to kiss her daughter.

“She's beautiful,” commented Strike as he set the table. “Looks just like you.” He added, blushing.

“She does, doesn't she?” Robin was happy to hear. “Did you hear anything about Matthew yet?”

“Wardle texted saying they're interrogating him, his nose was operated on,” replied Strike, filling their glasses with beer. Robin took an eager sip and snickered.

“Nothing like British beer,” said Robin happily.

“We still need to find you a general practitioner,” reminded Strike with his mouth full. “Your back is in terrible state, Robin. I don't know how you're not complaining all the time about the pain.”

“I've had worse,” Robin shrugged. “I had a good GP before we left. I'll go after lunch, if you can look after Rose?”

“We'll go with you,” said Strike. “Rosie and I will wait outside the consult and I'll show Rosie how to say sternocleidomastoid.” He added jokingly, making Robin snort a laugh.

“I missed your sense of humour,” confessed Robin. Her blue-grey eyes looked at him fondly.

“Yeah,” Strike half-smiled. “I haven't had it in me to smile much though.” Robin extended a hand to squeeze his own.

“I wish on my wedding day, instead of saying 'I do', I would've gone with you back to London. This is my place, I see it now. It was first was Matthew wanted for me, yes... but then it became what I want for me. Rosie is the only good thing that's come out of this huge mess.”

“Everything happens for a reason, Robin,” said Strike. “Now you're here and the nightmare is over. That's all that matters.”

After a quick lunch they adventured back into the rainy day. Robin had lost her Land Rover after her marriage, as it had broken shortly after her wedding, so they had no car. Michael and Linda had a new one, and they gave them a ride to the hospital of Robin's preference.

“Alright now you stay with Uncle Corm, Grandma and Grandpa and I will see you shortly,” Robin peppered kisses over Rose's big cheeks.

They were standing in the corridor in front of the consult and Linda was holding the little one, grinning at her daughter.

“Actually, Robin,” said Strike. “Rosie will be alright with your parents. I should stay here to watch in case something happens.”

“It'll be alright, Corm,” said Robin, nonetheless thankful. “However if it'll leave you calmer, you may stay.” Strike nodded, appreciative.

“We'll take this one to the park then, find a covered area,” said Michael, pinching Rose's cheek. “Good luck, love.” Michael kissed Robin's cheek.

As the Ellacotts left, Strike opened the door for the consult and sat next to Robin at the doctor's desk. The doctor was a middle-aged woman with a kind but serious expression. Robin explained the situation and the doctor took her behind the curtain to lay on the stretcher as she did a full exam, and Strike waited anxiously on the chair for thirty long minutes, hearing the murmur behind the curtain and examining the white walls covered with posters about the human body and the shelves stacked with books and documents.

“Mr. Strike?” came the doctor's voice behind the curtain about ten minutes in.

“Yes,” said Strike.

“Robin and I were just thinking that you should see how the cures on her back are done, so you can do it at home, since Robin cannot reach. This needs to be done daily until the wounds close.”

“Sure, of course,” said Strike. But the army hadn't prepared him for what he saw when he opened the curtain.

His best friend lied completely naked, face down over the stretcher, with a medical blanket covering her privates. Her back looked as if someone had repeatedly sliced it with a knife and he almost felt like puking. There were lines covering her entire back, the verge of her ass cheeks and even a bit on the upper part of her arms when the aim had been bad. Some lines looked more like scars, but most of her back was a flesh, bloody meat.

“Will she truly heal-up from this?” Strike asked with a trembling voice.

“The lines will be there, but it'll just be scars,” replied the doctor with a sympathetic half-smile. “Right, so the doctor in Qatar could only do a bit of a cleaning and put on a dressing so it would stop bleeding, because I imagine then the wound must've been pretty recent. But now it looks like it's getting infected, so we need to clean up in deep, alright? Now that would hurt tremendously and we don't want to traumatise her any further, so we're going to numb the area with repeated injections of local anaesthesia. Do you know how to inject a syringe, Mr Strike?”

“Yeah,” Strike nodded.

“Alright then you do it,” the doctor indicated. “I'll correct you if I see any mistakes. You simply get the gloves on, get the syringe, and then you pinch around the back, in non-hurt areas and pointing to the injured areas, making sure the needle doesn't go too inside and it stays in the surface of the skin.”

“Right,” Strike nodded, carefully starting the task. “I apologise in advance if I hurt you, Robin.”

“I'm sure you'll do just fine,” Robin smiled from her place.

Carefully, Strike anaesthetised one area, then stopped to drop the liquid medicines and creams over the anaesthetised area, and clean with a gauze, then anaesthetised another area and repeated the process. To go faster, the doctor did it with him and Robin didn't complain. Then, the doctor taught him how to put on the dressing, covering the entire injured area, and while Robin got dressed, the doctor assembled a bag of meds for them to take, including the anaesthesia, and taught Strike what each bottle was, and gifted him a pack of gloves.

“She was nice,” commented Strike as the two left the consult. “How does it feel?”

“Awesome, I don't feel a thing,” Robin snickered. “Thank you for doing that, Cormoran. I didn't even ask if you wanted to do it, you were just the only one there... I bet Nick can do it at home, though.”

“No, it's okay,” assured Strike. “I'll do it.”

“You're a blessing,” Strike tried to ignore the way his insides felt when she smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “Now let's go get my mini-carrot.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a while any of my stories, but truth is the lack of reviews makes me think no one cares if I update this or not so I figure why lose my time grabbing the laptop and updating when I could be doing other stuff? I truly do enjoy writing and for me, I get the same joy even if I don't publish. The entire fic is written, I already had joy with it, publishing is only to share it if people like it.
> 
> Finally I've decided to put up this chapter, but I've decided I won't publish any other of this story unless I get 5 reviews, and that way I can filter and don't lose time updating stories that don't interest much in favour of updating more often those that do get petitions for more chapters. After all, a writer doesn't publish another book of a saga if the one before is not bought. This will go on until this story ends, if you get to see the end. This is not out of anger or anything, not really, but I think us fanfic writers need to have some pride, you know? I think we work very hard to create aditional content, and if no one cares we're equally happy writing it for ourselves and don't losing time putting it up online only so someone can steal the work (which happens very often) but we get 0 credit.


	7. Zoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to your support, this fic is back!

“What do you think if I take you girls to the zoo?” asked Strike one day.

They had been hanging out at the Herberts after a busy morning being interviewed by Wardle and starting the divorce paperwork. It was the end of March and Robin had been there for a few days already. Her parents had already gone back to Masham, after staying for a few days to be with their daughter, and the family was doing a crowdfunding to get Robin money for a new life. So far they had two thousand pounds, which was quite incredible. The rain had stopped for a few hours and Strike felt he had memorised every dot on the walls and needed some fresh air.

“Sounds good,” Robin snickered. “Rosie's never gone!”

They bought the tickets online because Strike new it was cheaper, and although Rosie went free, each adult was £24.30, £21,90 in Strike's case for being technically disabled.

“What a stab,” Robin snorted a laugh. “I hope Rosie likes it. I've never gone either.”

London Zoo was situated in Regent's Park, an enormous park they could get to by bus. Before getting to the actual zoo, right in front, there were other fun things like watching the lemurs, the aviary or the giraffes, so by the time they got into the actual zoo, crossing over a channel, Rose was wide awake and excited. To get there, they had to pass under a road following a small tunnel that had animals drawn on the walls like ancient rock paints.

“Look, Rosie!” Robin pointed out at the animals. “It's a giant mammoth! Rawr!” They smiled at Rose's face of confusion as they kept walking.

Strike carried Rose in a carrier against his chest, and Robin kept Strike's black digital camera in her hand and forced them to take pictures here and there. There was a gift shop and a restaurant to the left, and walking around a fenced area of bushes, they entered somewhere called “Penguin Beach”. That led into a wooden pathway by the penguin's pond and then towards an artificial beach.

“I thought penguins were supposed to be in the ice,” said Robin taking pictures of a penguin after pointing it out to Rose.

“Welcome to global warming,” said Strike. He saw a sign on a wall with the penguin's parts. “Look, Rosie. The penguin has paddle-like flippers to dive super fast. Look at that jaw, woah!” Rose seemed attracted to the vocal noises and Robin couldn't help but smile at them, taking a picture of them. “Look, there's a window to look under water.”

Sure enough, people were lining-up to see the penguins swim. Strike was so big most people left when he came around, and he made sure Rose's face was right in front of the class.

“Ohhh!” Rose squealed when a penguin swam at top speed right in front of her eyes, catching her by surprise. Strike snorted a laugh at her noises and Robin giggled.

“I think she loves penguins now.” Robin commented cheerfully. It was hard to believe just a few days earlier they had been kidnapped in Qatar, unable to do those things. There were some terraces to see penguin spectacle, but since there was none at the moment, the trio went on back to a road-like path.

Robin then scrutinised the zoo map she held, and they went back to the entrance to see the gorillas, a small aquarium, the reptiles, the bird safari, the tigers, kangaroos... Then they walked on to the farm animals, and Robin saw some very familiar ones such as pigs.

“It's rather unfair for the pigs, isn't it?” said Strike. “We just saw caimans, tigers and giraffes, a pig isn't impressive now.” Robin giggled and took a picture of Rose giggling at the noise the pigs made.

They continued to the bugs, monkeys, and the land of the lions, where Strike roared for Rose's amusement and then a real lion roared in response and they all laughed, and after seeing the butterflies and a few things more, they went on to the gift shop and Strike got Rose an over-prized giant penguin.

“You know, Rosie,” said Strike as they left the gift shop, “when a male penguin falls in love, he searches the entire beach for the best pebble to gift his loved-one.”

“Aww, really?” asked Robin. Strike nodded.

“Males often fight for the prettiest pebble. If the companion accepts it, she puts it on the nest and symbolises they will soon have a baby penguin.”

“That's so cute.”

“And most penguins are monogamous. They are loyal,” added Strike, looking sweetly at Rose. “So now you have your own loyal best friend for life, how's that? Just like I'll be your loyal knight in shining armour forever.” Robin looked at them and almost felt like crying. They were so perfect together and it made her so happy. “Let's go eat, I'm starving.”

The trio walked to the restaurant and fetched a good table under the sun, where Robin discreetly breastfeed Rose. While she did so, Strike looked at the menu and read Robin the options. It was then when an old man came to bother.

“Excuse me,” said the man, fat, with white hair and red cheeks. “Would you mind not doing that in public? There are little children around and it's disturbing...” Robin blushed heavily and looked down, but Strike was already on his feet.

“No, we don't excuse you,” said Strike, looking deep into the man's eyes. “This is a public place and what she's doing is called breastfeeding. Look around, most of the kids you see have either just been breastfeed for lunch or are about to, and there are several pregnant women as well. All of us wouldn't be here if some woman hadn't been so attentive to make us milk,” said Strike politely. “The baby is hungry and the mother will damn well feed her child when she's hungry instead of making her cry, and if that was problematic, a sign would say so, although it would be very stupid because one has to be very short of neurons to think there's anything disturbing with breastfeeding. It's actually beautiful, I think, how a woman can just feed her child in the way nature and, your God if you believe, made them. So if it disturbs you, you'll have to find somewhere else to eat, but if you think we're going to let the baby to starve or have the mother do what she's dutifully and rightfully doing in some uncomfortable, dark corner, just so you can be happy, you're very wrong. Stop bothering us and go find yourself a brain, this is a family place and they have more right to be here than you.”

The man blushed and seemed to have an internal fight, before he simply said.

“No need to be so rude, gentleman.”

“I wouldn't have to if I was speaking with another gentleman.” retorted Strike. The man left, grumbling, and Strike turned and smiled at Robin. “It's all right. You girls enjoy.”

“Thanks, Corm. You didn't have to...”

“Of course I had to. It's about damn time women don't have to defend themselves alone.”

“Hello, can I invite you today?” a female waitress approached them grinning. “To compensate the bad time. And there are some families around who would like to invite you to a drink or buy the baby a present.”

Robin and Strike looked around and saw several families sitting around and smiling at them, nodding in approval.

“That was very well said, sir!” a woman commented.

“That's the right way of caring for your family!” added a man.

“Yeah, shut the mouth of those tossers who won't let our loves feed in peace,” added a lesbian mother who was there with her wife and baby themselves. There were nods of approval and Strike couldn't help but blush.

A while later, Strike was down his third invited beer and eating an enormous hamburger and Robin was happily devouring fish and chips. Both had recovered their appetite since being back in London. A family had even offered to take a picture of 'the whole family together' and they hadn't had the heart to point out they weren't a couple.

“So...” Robin started, nervous. “I was thinking... when we get the office back, you're not planning to go back to that attic, right?”

Strike thought about it. He had gotten used to living with people, and he knew it'd be weird to go back there as if nothing had ever happened.

“I don't know,” replied Strike, honest.

“Why don't you come with Rose and me? We're a team, right? We could get a place, us three. And sharing a house would mean none of us would have to try to afford a place on their own.”

“Robin...” Strike shifted awkwardly in his seat. “As much as I'd love to, don't you think it'd be confusing on your baby? She's about to be a year old, she'll soon be walking and talking... she might think I'm her dad.”

“Cormoran, like you said, she's eleven months old. Everything is confusing for her,” Robin smiled sympathetically. “And so what if she calls you daddy? At least she'll have an ideal example of a gentleman. You're already more of a positive influence for her than Matthew ever was and, when she's older, we'll explain her and she'll understand.”

Strike pursed his lips thoughtfully and looked down at Rose, who had fallen asleep with Robin's nipple between her lips and milk in the sides of her mouth. Robin noticed and returned her boob into her t-shirt, cleaning Rose's mouth with her own napkin before shifting to hold her more comfortably for the baby to sleep.

“Truth be told,” said Strike then, after being in silence for a while. “I've never wanted to have children. But if it was one like Rosie... I might reconsider.” Robin grinned.

“You can always be super cool Uncle Corm. Everyone has a cool uncle, you're competing against three.” Strike gave her a serious look as he filled his mouth so much with hamburger that crumbs spilled between his lips. Robin smirked and reached a hand to clean it off his lip, without thinking, making him almost choke. Finally he gulped. “Alright... We will move in together. But how are we going to get the money?”

Robin pursed her lips, thoughtful for a moment.

“How much is the office right now?”

“A ton,” Strike sighed. “We made the spot popular, so the owner is hoping to rent it for twice the prize I used to pay, he's selling it as 'the place where London's major crimes were uncovered'.”

“Well Wardle has always offered me a spot in the Met. I could take it, work as a consultant or something,” said Robin. “And you could find an administrative job with the red caps. We suffer for a few months and then, between what we will have saved and what I make from the divorce, we buy the office and go back to our legitimate jobs.”

“We will still need much more money if we want a decent place for Rosie. Besides, if both of us are working, who's going to take care of Rosie? We'll have to pay daycare.”

“I'm sure the Met has a daycare for the employees' children,” said Robin without worrying much. “Yeah, the house would be an issue... we can't afford the house and the office right now.” Strike sighed.

“What if we forget Denmark Street? If we have a place to call home, we can arrange an office there. We've worked from Wandsworth.”

“And let criminals know where we live?” Robin shook her head. “Not with Rosie on board. No, we need an office outside home. What if we make a deal with the guy who rents our office? Make it the office and the attic for the same prize, lower it down. We can tell him if he doesn't accept, we'll make sure that their next tenant is absolute shit, and talk bad of Denmark Street so no one wants to buy it. Your friend Culpepper is a journo, we'll tell the owner if he doesn't rent it to us, we'll give Culpepper an exclusive that the office is full of rats. We're two respectable detectives, they'll believe us. And the attic will do so we can at least leave the Herberts alone, at least for a while.”

Strike snorted a laugh and snickered, lifting his beer and clinging it with Robin's juice.

“Always a pleasure making business with you, Ms Ellacott.” Robin grinned.

 


	8. The landlord and agreement

The next day after work, Robin left Rose with the Herberts and accompanied Strike to talk with the landlord of their former office and Strike's attic in Denmark Strike. They were happy to salute their old friends and neighbours from the music store and the music bar, and then they walked upstairs to the old office. Now the furniture Strike had abandoned was empty and with a layer of dust, the content in boxes under Strike's current bed. The landlord was a moustached guy with receding grey hair called Steve O'Gaylor. They sat in the dusty sofa to talk.

“Look, Steve, being honest Robin and I don't have a penny right now, we don't even have where to fall dead,” said Strike. “But Robin's got a baby girl who'll be a year old soon, and if you've seen the news,” unfortunately it had leaked, “I just got her out of the hands of the abuser and kidnapper, violent tosser she was married to. We cannot afford this place but we need it to work and make a living and get out of this shitty situation that wanker got us in, and we could pay you, just not now. The moment we have a client, I swear, they will come the minute we open up, we're famous now, that's what you're selling, right? Listen, our offer is, instead of paying you a monthly rental, you get 30% of what each client pays us for each case, which could be about £1500 per week. That's a shit ton of money, isn't it? We'll pay you that until we've saved enough to pay you the full prize.”

“I don't know, Strike,” Steve grumbled. “I do want to help you, I like you both, you made this place famous, but what if another person offers me the full prize? It's way more than that.”

“Let us make this straight for you, Steve,” said Robin. “That was our being kind deal, hoping that you would accept it. Just now, that deal has expired,” Robin smiled mischievously. She got up, turned around and lifted her shirt just to show Steve her destroyed back. He gasped and she sat back again, looking like a hungry shark. “You're such a shit person you've refused to help someone suffering that. New deal. £2000 per month for both the attic and the flat, split in a thousand each, forever, and discounting the first three months as an apologise for your refusal to help a baby and a victim of domestic violence. Either that or, we, two famous detectives with a great reputation who will be believed over you, will spread that this office and attic are infested with insects, rats and that in a couple occasions we even found snakes, in an exclusive interview conceded to a journalist friend of us who owes us a favour, and will also talk about how we sought your help in these extremely difficult moments and you denied it. We'll see who rents this shit then, because we'll find another place. We are detectives, Steve, you can be grateful we aren't investigating all your dirty businesses and talking about them with our friends in the Met.”

Steve had lost the colour from his face. Strike knew he smoke weed and other drugs, and suspected he was also into illegal gambling. The old Steve gulped and smiled fragile.

“I see we have a deal!” said Steve faking excitement.

When Steve left them to 'get comfortable' in the attic, Strike couldn't help but roar with laughter.

“You're such a genius!” Strike claimed between laughs. Robin smiled weakly.

“Did I just threaten a man?”

“Damn yes you did,” Strike beamed at her. “And you got us a flat and an attic for free for the next three months. I could kiss you!”

Strike pretended he hadn't said that looking around the attic and hiding his blush. It was more or less like he had left it, as he had rented it fully furnished, but empty. The bed was smaller than the one they shared in Wandsworth, that was extra XL, and it was really tiny attic.

“We're going to have to do a ton of work to make this look great for Rosie,” said Strike walking around the attic. He would settle as it was, but given the circumstances, it had to be better. For Rosie.

The attic was only four rooms. A tiny bedroom, a tiny bathroom, a small sitting room and a small kitchen. Robin looked around letting out a long puff and nodded with him, trying not to think in the kiss comment herself. She had blushed a little.

“If we move the bed, we can put another small one there...” said Robin. “And we could paint around. Put a crib in the sitting room, perhaps. Make the meals down in the office. It will look great in the end.”

“Well the sooner we get on it, the sooner it'll be ready. With some luck, before Rose's birthday. Help me move the furniture to the middle of each room so we can paint comfortably.”

“Yeah and I have my parents' money, we can go buy paint, a crib and another bed.”

“You're not buying it all yourself,” Strike argued. Robin rolled eyes.

“Cormoran...” she said in warning tone.

“Okaaaay...”

They devoted the rest of the day to it, just the two of them, teaming up as always. They worked and worked, overcoming exhaustion and keeping in their minds that it was all for Rose, and that she deserved it all. By the time Nick and Ilsa called at midnight, worried about them, the entire attic was painted, they had paint all over themselves, and the bed and crib were waiting to be put together.

“With a bit of luck, we'll sleep home tomorrow,” Strike looked at Robin smiling as they ate takeaway sitting on the floor of the attic. “Good job, partner.” Robin grinned, despite the deathly exhaustion she felt.

“You too,” Robin looked around feeling proud of themselves. They had painted the attic of a nice cream colour and the bedroom a soft blue, the ceilings white, and Strike had fixed a couple things here and there. It helped the attic was so tiny, hence they could paint it quickly, and it looked like another place. “I love it.”

“Yeah,” Strike agreed, satisfied. “I've never liked this place so much. I could ever show it to Lucy.” Robin smiled softly. Strike was eating with abandon and she always found that adorable.

“Do you remember all those times you've claimed I'm, in verbatim,” that surprised Strike, amusing him, “'a very nice person'?” Strike nodded, chuckling. “Well... you are the nicest person, Cormoran. You're the nicest person there is, along with Lucy and Nick and Ilsa, who've been so kind and generous.” Lucy had visited them almost daily, bringing old shoes from the kids for Rose, and all those old clothes that still looked pretty and cute for a baby, because the baby was growing so fast half of the things Robin had no longer fit her. She had also babysat a couple times and even bought Rose toys. Robin was sniffling, tears in her eyes before she could stop it.

“Hey... don't cry...” Strike put his food aside and tentatively squeezed her knee.

“It's just...” Robin hiccuped. “I've gotten myself in such a trashy situation,” she said tearfully. “Twenty months ago I was so happy, with my job back, and the man I loved... now I can't even begin to explain all the suffering I've had. The amounts of screaming in physical pain, the amounts of fearing my life was going to leave Saw as a children's movie,” she rubbed the tears of her eyes. “It was mostly fear. So much fear, for twenty months. Could barely sleep every day, knowing what the next day had in store for me, the ribs that would be broken, and always just praying at least Rose would be alright. Matthew liked to tell me what he was going to do to me in advance, so I'd be terrified and begging for days. I had bones broken, cuts, burning, whipping...” Robin let a long breath out, trying to steady her breathing and stop crying silent tears. Strike felt his soul shatter. He had done what? “I had to beg to save Rose. Every time she screamed too much or cried too much, or simply pissed him off with baby behaviour... I took the punishment so she wouldn't have to. And every day, not knowing when it was going to end, and not trying to kill myself because I knew without me, no one would protect Rosie. Oh, Cormoran, don't cry for me...” she smiled tearfully and rubbed tears off Strike's cheeks that he hadn't even noticed.

“I just...” Strike took a deep breath. “I hate my kind. All the men in my mum's life. That guy, Trewin, who raped you. Matthew. You and Rosie deserve only the best... How's it possible that people so cruel exist... and that it's you who has to meet them? Can't you have something nice, for fucking once? What kind of God lets this happen?”

“Oh, Corm, but I did,” Robin smiled despite the tears. “That's where I was getting. I am so grateful, because I have you. And your family and your friends, and my family and my friends... and everyone has been so great, so wonderful with Rosie and I. But the best one is you. You gave up everything you had, all that had cost you years to get, to bring us home. And you're still putting us first, sharing the attic and all... even though I know how independent you are. I will never forget that. One day I hope to pay you back.”

“You've already paid me back,” Strike rubbed his eyes angrily. “Seeing you here, with me... That's all I've dreamed of for twenty months. And you put my office together, you put your own engagement on the line for me, you drove me whenever I needed it, and if I was hurt or sick or drunk, you were there. You always looked after me. And you took this agency under your wing and made it what it became, hence, it wouldn't hold up without you. And now you even brought this angel of daughter you've made, who's my favourite little girl, but don't tell Kenzie because she's my god-daughter.” Robin giggled tearfully and moved to fit into his arms and hug him, when words simply wouldn't do. Strike smirked and hugged her back carefully dodging her back, kissing the top of her head. “We're going to get out of this one, Robin. I promise you.”

“I don't doubt it. I have you.”

 


	9. Strike 1, baby 0

**[A/N: I tend to imagine Rose as Maeve Thea Rosa, the youngest daughter of YouTubers 'Living Rosa', but with a different hair colour].**

It took them an extra three days to be ready to move into the attic, because between other reasons, it turns out a second layer of paint was needed -wild concept-, but eventually it all was set. They put together another bed and pressed it together with the bed that they already had to make one XL bed, as one of them was a twin bed but the other was a single. They didn't mind sleeping together -Rosie would be separating them- but they considered it was safer for Rosie, when she slept with Robin, because that way there was no way she could fall off the bed. It also saved space. They also put together a crib and brought in all their belongings, neatly organising them following Strike's military skills, and then they proceed to get the office ready. The office looked nice, they had already repainted it when they worked there, it just needed a deep cleaning and putting everything back in place. Strike offered moving Robin's desk to the inner office, but Robin preferred the other one, since it had more natural light and had the kitchen nearer, so she stayed there and, in a hidden corner behind her desk, she put a 'Rosie corner' with a tiny sling for babies were you basically lie the baby and they're entertained until they fall asleep.

With their new situation extra jobs were no longer needed, and they settled straight to work. The first day back, Robin put Rosie to play on a small baby rug behind her desk, by her swing, with a bunch of her toys, and started reorganising and renovated the agency's webpage while drinking a tea, and Strike settled in his office feeling cheerful as he heard baby babbling from there. A client came in and Robin looked up and smiled. It was a young lady and she seemed shy.

“Hello, is it Ellacott & Strike Investigations?” she girl asked timidly from the crooked door.

“Indeed, welcome,” Robin stood up and offered her a hand to shake. “I'm Detective Robin Ellacott, how can we help you?”

“Uhm, I'm Alice. It's about my dog, Kennek,” said Alice. “He's disappeared, but I think he's been stolen. Somebody stole in my house, you see? And they took the dog too. They left a note saying 'thanks for the dog' so it was pretty much confirmed. I told the police, but they don't care about a dog, they're only trying to find the other stuff they took. He's my baby, he could be hurt... I will pay you very nicely if you find it. A thousand quid would be good to cover the whole investigation?”

Robin looked surprised at the novelty of case and how generous she was willing to pay.

“Yeah, that should cover it, it could even be more than necessary,” replied Robin being sincere.

“Well...” Alice shrugged. “He deserves it all. So will you find him?”

“I-Yes, what else did they take from you?”

“Uh, a laptop, a thousand quid I had stored... because I don't like having all my money in the bank, you see,” she explained. “And also, an Ipod. They broke a window as well.”

“Alright well, chances are where your things are, your dog will also be,” said Robin. “So police may find him or I may find it all. Do you have any clue who could've done it? Maybe they left something behind?”

Alice looked thoughtful for a moment, and then she shook her head.

“No, police took pictures of everything, it was a disaster, but they didn't find anything particularly telling. I do think there's only one person who could've done it.”

“Who?” asked Robin.

“My ex, Jared Ollivier. I dumped him last week, and he knew how much I love my dog and the things I had. Jared's a control freak, that's why I dumped him. And my flat looked as if even though there was a mess, the robber knew what he was looking for and sort of where it could be, and Jared's been at my place plenty of times. He was very angry when I dumped him.”

“That's a good place to start,” Robin wrote notes down. “I'm going to need both of your addresses and I'd have to visit you as soon as possible.”

“Oh, I'm just going home now. You can come too if you want.” Robin nodded slowly.

“Let me check things with my partner one second alright?” Robin smiled politely and grabbed Rose, scooping her up. When Alice looked it, she smiled and waved at the baby.

“So hardcore, a working mum!”

“Yeah, well,” Robin giggled. “Come on baby-girl, let's visit Uncle Corm...” Robin took Rose to Strike's office, knocking on the door and coming in when she heard Strike's voice inviting them in.

“What's up?” asked Strike, looking up at them. Rose seemed surprised not to be playing anymore and she tried to get out of Robin's arms.

“I've got a client who's dog seems to have been stolen, she invited me to come with her to her house now to check around for clues,” said Robin. “I don't think Rosie should come with me. Would it be okay if I left her with you?” Strike looked at Rose forming a small 'o' with his mouth. “It will just be a couple hours, I suppose. Could be less. There are bottles in the fridge if she's hungry, her swing if she falls asleep, and her bag with nappies right under my desk.” She looked guilty to ask and Strike nodded.

“Sure, no problem,” Strike smiled. “Right! Go and have fun! Rosie and I will be right here playing chess and resolving crosswords.”

Robin grinned.

“Sure?”

“Sure, go,” Strike reached his arms towards Rose and Robin squealed and kissed Rosie thoroughly.

“I'll leave with with Uncle Corm for a few hours okay? I'll be right back, be a good girl,” she kissed her some more, gave her a quick hug and handed it to Strike. Rose looked slightly saddened when she saw Robin just leave, but Strike hugged her a little and by the time he heard the entry close, Rose was almost asleep.

Strike decided to wear the carrier and put Rose inside, bouncing her a little as he walked around the office until she was absolutely asleep, and then he saw Robin's case notes and sat on her desk to pass them into the computer for her. He was midway on it, when another client came it. It was a middle-aged woman.

“Good morning, is it Strike & Ellacott Investigations?” the woman asked with bespectacled eyes.

“Yes, morning,” Strike got up and shook his hand. “I'm Detective Cormoran Strike. This is my assistant,” he added pointing to the baby asleep in the carrier against his chest, seeing her eyes had moved to her with curiosity. The woman smirked.

“I didn't know you were a father, she's so cute! How old is she?”

“Uh...” Strike decided not to correct on the fatherhood status. Admitting her father was Matthew Cunliffe would make him angry, he didn't deserve such a phenomenal daughter. “Thanks, she's almost a year old. One's got to start 'hem young.” He joked. “So how can I help you?”

“Right!” Strike motioned for her to sit, so she did. “My name is Margaret Hampshire, my husband, Elliott, he disappeared and I think he might be with someone... I think he was cheating on me.”

“I'm sorry...”

“Yeah...” Margaret sighed. “I've been suspecting... and he hasn't been home in three days. This never happened before, and we have two teenage children asking for him. I got home three days back from work, I work at the public administration, and he had picked up his things and was gone, not answering his phone. Police say he left willingly and that's why they won't investigate, but I have a bad feeling. He might do this to me, but he would never disappear without attending his children's calls, he was nice to them, and they've been calling non-stop. I need you to find him.”

Strike had a slight déjà vu to the Quine case, and nodded slowly, leaning back in his chair.

“Why do you suspect he was cheating on you?”

“Lipstick on his neck, poor excuses to come home late or not come home, and I found female underwear that doesn't belong to him in his pocket. The arse was so stupid to leave it there,” said Mrs Hampshire. Strike sighed, stroking the bit of strawberry-blonde hair Rosie had absent-mindedly, as if she was a kitten on his lap. Her hair was soft and smelled a mixture of Robin and bed sheets, even from his position.

“Seems reasonable,” admitted Strike. “Do you have any... idea where he might be?”

“With the woman, but God knows where. Could be a strip-tease club, even. Our accounts are separate, only a common one for house stuff – I know nothing of his expenses. We generally talk about our expenses, but he didn't say.” Strike nodded.

“Let me try to call him first and foremost. Perhaps he'll get an unknown number.”

Strike grabbed the office phone and marked the number as Mrs Hampshire indicated, and then waited for an answer, pressing the phone to his ear. It sounded as if the phone was off.

“See?” Mrs Hampshire said, noticing he wasn't succeeding.

“Alright. I will look for him, and hopefully I can force him back home, but if not at least we'll know what happened.”

Strike collected a bit more information such as email password so he could check his mails, employment, addresses of interest or people he got along with or had a shitty relationship with, before Mrs Hampshire went home. Strike then spent some minutes checking the internet for more information, minutes that turned into hours as he tried to decipher Mr Hampshire's expenses, and then suddenly, a tiny, slippery warm thing was touching his chin and lips, gently slapping. Strike looked down and saw the big blue-gray eyes of Rosie, with her curious expression, her short, natural bangs covering her forehead and those dimples that were more evident in her than in her mother.

“Hello miss,” Strike murmured. Rosie giggled, making a sound that made Strike snort a laugh and transform his naturally serious bulldog face into a full grin. “Having fun down there, poppet? Was that a good nap?” he spoke as if she was Robin.

Rose squeaked showing her five teeth and Strike caressed her hair, checking his watch to see if maybe it was time to feed her. Over the days they had lived together he had caught up on her schedule. While he did so, Rose grabbed onto his beard and he hissed, making her laugh.

“You little demon,” Strike rolled eyes. “Can't even get mad at you with those eyes, can I? You got mummy's eyes, yes you do.” He settled with tickling her hard for a few moments and then he threw her on his shoulder and rummaged in the fridge to check for food. He found a bottle with Robin's milk and he went on to give it to Rose. The minute the substance touched Rose's lips, however, she squirmed and moved her face, getting milk all over her tiny face. “Rosie! You made a mess!”

Strike cleaned her and then he realised that perhaps Rose didn't like fridge-cold milk. He looked around trying to think how to warm that up. Would the bottle melt if he put it in warm water? Just to be safe, he decided to pour the milk into a small pot and warmed it up. He washed his hands and put his finger inside, and once it felt a bit warm on his finger, he removed it from the stove, poured it back into the bottle, and tried again. This time Rose drank half the bottle in a surprisingly short timespan.

“Girl, you've got a Strike stomach,” Strike murmured, impressed. Rose went on to finish the whole thing and then moved trying to get away from his arms and to the ground. Strike left her on the floor and amused himself seeing how the girl crawled around for a little, as if she was a pet to observe. Then he set back to work.

He was halfway through a list he was making on places he'd need to visit to find Mr Hampshire when Strike saw the mini fridge they had open from the corner of his eye. Strike looked and his eyes widened seeing Rose was on her knees, her tiny arms reaching and opening the mini fridge door, looking inside with eyes full of curiosity.

“Rosie, no,” Strike got up and took the baby in his arms. She started pouting and her eyes started getting teary. “No crocodile tears, I understand you've got your mother's curiosity and boldness, but...” Rose started crying. “Come on, Rosie, don't do this to me, you know I can't let you just rummage...” cries got stronger. “Okay fine! Here, I have something to entertain you.”

Strike went to a small coffin they had for Rose's toys and pulled out a bag of Lego blocks, spreading them on the floor behind his desk. He put her on the floor and she immediately stopped crying and started playing with the blocks. Strike smiled to himself.

“Strike 1, baby 0,” Strike murmured for himself. Then he saw Rose putting the Lego into her mouth. “Rosie no! Don't you dare!”

**. . .**

When Robin got home in the evening, after having been working all day, happy because she had made the young girl's boyfriend return all her things, including the dog, but also missing her girl enormously, she found the onesie Rosie had been wearing, dirty with poo, on the bathroom floor, water drops all over the bathroom, and Strike lying on the bed in his boxers, sleeping soundly, with Rose in diapers asleep against his chest, his arms around her. Robin looked at them and smiled, touched. The entire attic smelled of shit.

  
  


 


	10. Aftermath

When Strike woke up in the morning, he was wrapped-up with the duvet, warm and cosy, and the attic smelled of clean, and coffee and pastries. Strike's stomach grumbled and he hurried out of bed, got dressed, and following a noise of baby laughter to the sitting room, where Robin was sitting on the sofa throwing the baby in the air and picking her, making noises for her and making her laugh. Strike observed for a moment, feeling happy and blessed from witnessing that, without wanting to interrupt. Finally, Robin noticed him.

“Good morning! Thanks for looking after this one so nicely yesterday,” said Robin happily. She pointed at the coffee table, where there was coffee, tea, pastries, biscuits and fried eggs. “I thought I'd give you a thank you gift.”

“Oh my,” Strike beamed and rushed, sitting next to them and filling his mouth immediately. Robin giggled.

“Rosie told me she had a blast,” Robin kissed Rose's temple. “Was she too difficult?”

“Let's wust way,” said Strike with his mouth full. “I 'preshiate mums mowr.” Robin chortled.

“Nice. Well good news, since yesterday you were so kind to look after the little nugget, I could spend the entire day investigating and resolved the case happily. I earned us a thousand pounds in one day.” Robin said cheerfully. Strike was evidently surprised, so he gulped to ask more.

“How?”

Robin explained him about the woman who had come wanting to find her dog, how Robin had gone to the house, found a cigarette the police hadn't seen, of the exact brand Alice's boyfriend Jared smoke, and had gone to Jared's house. Robin had then scared Jared off, hearing barking inside his flat from the doorstep, and gotten Jared to admit what he'd done and return all of Alice's belongings, including the dog. Alice had decided not to report him to the police and had paid Robin generously for her efficiency and speed.

“Brilliant!” Strike congratulated, impressed. “Phenomenal work! See Rosie? That's how things get done!” Robin grinned, letting Rose play with her hair. “Talking about cases, Robin, after you left, we got another case...” and then Strike told her about Mrs Hampshire's case.

“Do you think he's somewhere screwing someone else?” asked Robin after he was finished.

“Could be,” said Strike. “But they're so convinced it seems odd, that I'm going to go today to the brothel he often goes to, see if anyone remembers having seen him.”

“Good,” Robin nodded. “Stay in touch. Rosie and I will be at the office, building a Lego castle and waiting for clients.” Strike side-smiled.

“I may be jealous of your plans.” Robin snorted.

Strike ate in silence for a bit while Rose tore apart an old newspaper in Robin's lap.

“Cormoran?” said Robin then.

“Uh?”

“Why was there baby poo in the bathtub last night?”

“...oh boy...”

**. . .**

Strike's figure made itself fit between the people as he waked to the brothel where Mr Hampshire had been last seen. He wore his long grey coat and it made him look like a megalith, and the ladies at the brothel, even some young skinny men, instantly gave them curious looks and looked pleased as they slid swaying to him. Strike had found out there was one brothel very close to Hampshire's house, so he hoped that was the one he had gone off to.

“Hello,” said Strike at the desk, trying hard not to look at the big breasts the woman there had, with the neck cut so low that they almost came out. “I was looking for my friend, Elliott Hampshire. He told me he was coming here and I haven't heard from him since, I was hoping he had told one of the ladies where he's gone.”

“Is he really a friend, Detective Strike?” asked the woman with a grin, her round face covered with far too much make-up. Strike rose his eyebrows. He had hoped that two years out of business had made people forget him.

“Alright, you caught me,” Strike sighed, faking defeat. “I'm sorry I lied, it's just his kid, came to me all worried, and she's just a teenager with those teary eyes, missing her dad, I couldn't say no. I just want to tell her, her daddy's alright.”

The woman clicked her tongue but finally nodded.

“Men don't give their real names here, have you got a pic?” Strike searched in his phone for one Mrs Hampshire had sent him, and showed it to her. “Ah, yeah, good ol' Eli, comes here often. Haven't seen him in a while though, came here last, say, four days maybe. Could check the security cameras for you.”

“That'd be great, thanks,” Strike showed ten quid, offering, and the woman shook her head.

“No, honey,” she smiled. “I've seen the stuff you do. Don't want someone dead, you ain't got to pay me! Use that money for that woman you saved, with the little girl, she alright?” Strike looked surprised and amazed.

“Yes, thank you. They're doing better,” the woman seemed satisfied and she nodded, looking at her computer. A moment later she turned the screen for him to see.

“That's the recording of Eli coming and leaving three days ago. Came and left alone, well-fucked.”

Strike looked at the screen and nodded, not seeing anything abnormal.

“Would it be possible for you to send me just the parts where he's on camera?” asked Strike, wondering if the woman's kindness would end there. But to his further surprise, she nodded.

“Sure thing,” Strike gave her his card, with his number and email on it. “I'll do it today!”

“Thank you very much. Can I speak with the ladies that he's gone to?”

“He always picks the same. Sandy,” she pointed with a fat finger with a long, pink nail, to one of the girls that was watching her attentively. “Sandy! Help Detective Strike, won't you? Eli might be dead!” Sandy, the blonde tall woman in question, looked horrified by the idea and came running.

“Eli's dead?!” she asked, scandalised, looking at Strike.

“I'm not sure. Were you close?”

“Well...” she shrugged. “She's been coming for a year or so, often. He wasn't faithful to his wife, that I chastised him for, but he always seemed like he could use some company so... and sometimes, we fucked. Most times he just wanted to talk. We're friends, I guess you could say. He was funny as hell, and very gentleman, it was always a pleasure to make him company.”

Strike nodded, writing it down in a little notebook he always carried with himself.

“Have you called him these days? Wondered where he is?” asked Strike.

“No, he sometimes doesn't come for four or five days, even a couple weeks at times. He likes spending a lot of time with his teenager children, and often they've got games or something and he goes and sees them. I don't regularly call him, although I've got his personal number, and he's got mine.” Replied Sandy.

“Alright, so you mentioned you two talk a lot, what do you talk about?”

“Trivial things, he doesn't really want to talk of his problems, just of the things he likes. We're both fans of the Fulham, so we talk football a lot. We're also both from the Isle of Wright, so there's that. He liked chess as well, he was very good. And poetry. Nice guy, he just was disloyal.”

“If you chastised him for cheating, why did he keep doing it?”

“He said his wife wasn't sexy to his eyes anymore, but that he didn't want to leave her because he still loved her. He just wanted to get off and then go back to her. Eli said, he didn't have many friends because he worked too many hours and didn't like his co-workers much – said they were too Londoners for his liking. So he didn't have time to make friends. Many days we told him not to pay even, he was almost family.”

Strike thought he was a weird guy, but said nothing. He thanked them all for their help, handed Sandy his card too, and went back to the tube and to the office. His leg was slightly aching as he walked into Denmark Street, tired from all the walking, so Strike was less happy than usual about the long stairwell he had to overcome to get to the office, but the idea that Robin and Rosie waited upstairs cheered him up enough to climb the stairs with a different mood. As he approached the door, he heard baby giggling and was already half-smiling thinking of Rose's cheeky pink face and big light eyes, all slimly mouth, when he started opening the door.

“Hi!” Strike grinned seeing Ilsa sitting on the sofa cradling a mug of tea, and Robin sitting on the floor with Rose in her lap and surrounded by toys. The girls looked pretty cheerful.

“Hi! What do we do Rosie?” Robin waved to Strike and Rosie grinned showing her four teeth and waved both hands at Strike. “There!” Robin giggled.

“Hello to you too!” Strike chuckled at Rosie. “See we're in a good mood?”

“Ilsa just came to tell me as long as Matthew isn't declared innocent, I've got full custody of this one all on my own!” said Robin excitedly.

“And you two are free to leave London again. Although we'll be starting the trials soon,” added Ilsa. “Could be a couple weeks.”

“Sounds fantastic, Robin, why don't you take advantage and go home? You must be dying to see the horses and everything, right?” Strike commented, making more tea and smiling warmly at Robin.

“I am home,” Robin smiled. “It's fine, I'd rather stay and work than see Matthew's family. Masham is too small to avoid them forever.”

“Well, we'll buy some nice wine to celebrate then,” Strike decided.

“Did you find Hampshire yet?” asked Robin.

“No,” Strike flopped next to Ilsa on the sofa. “But he's a weird guy. Found the brothel he goes to, very close to the house, and there they almost considered family, he doesn't always have to pay. Always goes to see a girl named Sandy, prostitute there, she says they don't really fuck much, he's just become a friend so he visits and they chat. No one had anything to say about anyone who might've hurt him, where he might've gone... came and left unaccompanied the day he went missing, no one's heard of him since.” Robin frowned.

“Perhaps it's like Quine?” Robin suggested.

“Killed by his boss?” asked Ilsa. She nodded.

“I don't know,” said Strike. “Hampshire works in the construction, that sure gives you access to plenty of buildings to kill someone. At least we know Mrs Hampshire was right, he does cheat. Sandy, the prostitute, said she often chastised him for being unfaithful. She didn't like that.”

“How does a prostitute don't like unfaithful men? Those must be like 90% clientele,” said Ilsa, surprised.

“Guess she had a bad love experience,” supposed Robin. “Well while you were gone we got three new clients.”

“Three?” Strike eyebrows went up with surprise. Rose in the meantime was trying to climb to Strike's lap without knowing how to walk yet, so Strike put her up. “That's pretty nice.”

“Yeah, an university student who thinks his teacher stole his work to publish an article that has kind of made the teacher famous, a girl who's looking for her biological family, and Two Times is back.”

“Long time no see,” Strike nodded. “It sounds nice. Can you believe the ladies at the brothel contributed for free? Denied payment, said they recognised me and didn't want people to die.”

“Sweet,” Robin and Ilsa said at unison.

“So whatya doing here?” Strike asked Ilsa.

“Visiting, as usual,” Ilsa shrugged. “Had little to do today at work and the kids don't finish daycare for another three hours, so I'm bored out of my mind.”

“We should go have lunch,” Robin proposed, pulling a lock of her now short hair back. “Since now we have the money, right? I'll put a note at the door saying we're working outside and will be back after lunch.”

“Rebel, I like it,” Strike finished his tea with a look of approval, and Robin rolled eyes with a side smile. Rose was already playing with the buttons of Strike's shirt. “Okay, let's go. Come on poppet!” Strike scooped Rose up in one arm, and Robin got up to quickly scribble a note and, while Strike locked the door after the foursome, she taped the note to the glass door.

Ilsa knew a pub where babies were allowed, so they went there and found a nice spot in the dining area, tucked in a corner.

“So,” said Strike midway into a hamburger while Robin tried to coax a sleepy Rose into breastfeeding and Ilsa devoured a piece of steak. “Tell us Matthew's going to prison forever?”

“Uhm...” Ilsa grimaced. “Not so easy. He says he admitted to what he admitted in your recording because you coaxed him and threatened him, but that he's innocent. Claims Robin likes BDSM. So he's hoping to get away with it and then ask for full custody of Rosie and steal her away from Robin.” Strike stopped being hungry and regretted not having killed Matthew. He was suddenly furious.

“Get him one hour in a top security prison Ilsa, and I'll make sure someone k...”

“I'll pretend I didn't hear you suggesting getting someone to murder him,” Ilsa smirked.

“Come on, we just have to...”

“Guys,” Robin interrupted them. “Can we please don't talk about that in front of Rosie while she's awake? She's practically one; she feels the vibe of this. Besides, Matthew will never get her because if anyone ever attempts arresting me I'll run away with her and vanish from Earth. No one will put her anywhere near him or social services.” She said seriously, looking down at her baby.

“We wouldn't let anyone separate you, Robin,” Ilsa assured. “Never.”

“And if it came to it I'll kill anyone who tries,” added Strike.

“You're really into murder lately aren't you?” teased Ilsa lightly. Strike shrugged.

“Anything to keep them safe. This whole thing wouldn't be at risk of happening if I had killed him when I had the chance. Make him scribble a suicide note and hang himself.” Said Strike full of seriousness. Robin looked at him and shook her head.

“Then you'd be in prison.”

“I would've escaped,” said Strike. “And told the police I never saw him, that he never opened the door for me.”

“Well I'd rather things happened the way they happened,” said Robin, scooping her asleep daughter up in her arms and rubbing her back softly. “He's still Rosie's father. How would we explain to her when she's older that her uncle killed her father?”

Strike still didn't see the problem, but he merely shrugged and put a stick of potato in his mouth. It was all a complicated situation.

“Hello!” to their surprise, Nick arrived pushing the carriage with the twins. Ilsa stood up, surprised, and hugged him.

“What are you doing here?”

“I missed the twins, so I got off work a bit earlier claiming to be sick,” said Nick with an apologetic expression. “And you had told me you guys where here, so I thought, let's go see mummy and Uncle Corm and Aunty Robin, uh?” he looked at the twins. “Unfortunately they fell asleep on the way here. They already ate though.”

“Great,” Ilsa was already kissing her children all over the faces as they slept. “God I missed them so much.”

“Never do daycare,” Nick joked with Robin, who smiled small.

They asked for more food and conversation drifted into baby things, and they started planning out Rose's birthday on April 27th, which was barely a few weeks away.

“It's a Saturday, so we could do a picnic in a park, if the weather is good,” suggested Ilsa. “Lucy is an excellent cake baker, and we could invite some of the twins' friends from daycare so Rosie can make some new friends.”

“That would be nice, I miss being around grass,” Robin smirked. “Do you recommend any park?”

“There are billions of parks in London,” said Strike. “They're all nice.”

“Yes, but we need one that has good shadow areas, entertainment for bigger kids such as your nephews if they come, and also for Rosie and us, but it also has to be safe, have good grass so she doesn't get covered in mud...” Robin patiently explained, distractedly making circles on Rose's back with her finger.

“Well there's this place in Hyde Park, a Princess Diana memorial, there's this playground with a huge wooden ship they built, it's nice for all ages,” said Nick. “There are good grassy areas and right next you've got the Broadwalk Café for adults.”

“Oh, right! That place is awesome, the kids love going in the ship with us,” Ilsa recalled excitedly.

“Sounds great!” Robin was now excited, and she rarely had reasons to be excited. “We can put decorations and balloons... it's going to be fantastic.”

“They grow so fast,” Ilsa pouted, looking at her twins next to them in their carriage. “Seems like it was only yesterday they were as little as a peanut.” Robin smirked.

“Yeah, Rosie was super little and pink, always a redhead though,” Robin recalled.

“Yep, she gives you those I'm a good girl eyes, but then she's a little troublemaker,” commented Strike. “The apple didn't fall far from the tree.” He added side-smiling at Robin, who grinned.

“It's true you're very alike, thank God,” added Nick. “Can you imagine if on top of it all she was like Matthew?”

“She does remind me of him lightly at times,” confessed Robin. “But only the best parts of him. And I hope she ever manages to remind me only the best of her dad. He was once a good person and I'd rather we both remember him as such. And he never harmed Rosie.” Strike frowned but said nothing.

“Have you thought of seeking a therapist or something like that?” Nick suggested very casually, drinking from his pint. Robin looked at him confused. “I mean, you've suffered a lot and I've read studies that babies, even when they're only weeks old, do suffer when they're near domestic abuse and perceive more than we think. I'm sure you'd both benefit if you went to one of those things.”

“Yeah but...” Robin bit her lip guiltily, looking down at her sleeping baby. “I don't want to separate from her. I already have to at times for work or the doctor, I don't want to add more time apart, at least for now. Right now I think she needs me close more than anything else.”

“She's fine when you leave her with me, Robin...” Strike intervened.

“That's only because she's used to you being around at all times,” replied Robin. “And it was only a couple hours! Imagine if I left her alone a few hours every single day.”

“I'm sure the therapist wouldn't object to you bringing her. She can sit and play while you talk with the therapist,” offered Ilsa.

“But then she'd get affected by my emotions, and that's already happened too much,” said Robin, anxious. “If I cry she cries. But we're both happy if we just stick together and play Lego or something. Besides, she'll be walking soon, or talking, I'd hate to miss those millstones.”

Strike put a comforting arm around Robin and Rosie and squeezed her a little.

“It'll be okay,” he assured, not knowing what else to say.

  
  


 


	11. Judgement

Strike wondered how long it would last, sleeping next to Rose and Robin. He had woken up in the middle of the night and the moon and street lamps illuminated the border of the women sleeping next to him. Rosie was a ball in the middle tucked against Robin's chest as she kept an arm around her baby and her chin against her hair, protectively. Strike felt strangely comfortable there with them, but imagined at some point he'd have to sleep away from them. He knew he was in love with Robin; every time she did as much as being near him, his heart speed up, and when she smiled at him, his insides melt. He knew he could accept being a family with her and Rosie. Rosie was cool, not like the other children. He'd be happy with her. But it wasn't the right time.

Like many other nights, Robin was whimpering ever so softly in her sleep, and Strike had moved closer and was whispering comforting words while his hand travelled caressing her face and torso softly until the whimpers ended. She was traumatised, Strike could tell. He kept his eyes wide open, day after day, attentive to any signs of PTSD in any of them, and he had started picking-up some. Rose hated loud noises. The other day Strike had roared celebrating a goal of the Arsenal, and he had been in his office and Robin and Rosie upstairs, but he had immediately heard her cry upstairs and when he went up, both her and Robin looked very startled. He apologised and promised to be more careful, but Rose still cried for full twenty minutes, driving them both insane.

The girls hated being separated. Strike had been able to keep Rose happy and entertained for a maximum of five hours before Rose started crying like if there was no tomorrow, and rejecting being touched. When Robin finally arrived, Rose wouldn't leave her arms until the scare had been forgotten, and that could be hours. Robin had to call him every half an hour to hear Rosie in order to be tranquil. Rose hated being touched by strangers. Robin insisted Matthew had never touched her sexually or anything, but Rose still hated it, which made visits to the doctor very tricky. Rosie had needed to get a couple vaccines and they had to be thankful the doctor had been happy to courtship the girl first, after the first visit became hell. Strike assumed Rosie would only trust strangers she had seen her mum be close with.

Rosie was also specially sensitive to vibes. The office often received visits of questionable people, or people who smelled of tension, stress, or sadness. Egocentric businessmen, snobs, those also came sometimes. And Strike witnessed how Rosie crawled under Robin's desk when she was afraid of a client -even if they were perfectly nice- and how she tried to make the sad ones cry. The same way Robin cheered a sad client up when it was needed, Rose tried in her own way, giggling and cooing.

Now Robin and Rose had been back for a total of three weeks, and Matthew would soon be judged for his crimes. This forced them to take a bit of a break at work, and focus on the tasks at hand to ensure things went with flying colours. Robin was getting very nervous and stressed about the prospective of losing her child to an abuser, and it affected her sleep and her diet, making her fail to recover the weight she had lost during over a year of abuse. In Rose, the trauma meant she was skinnier than most babies her age, and had stopped evolving; she didn't try to stand up, she didn't try to walk, she just crawled and babbled and ignored any attempts for her to learn to talk. And the fact that Robin's breasts were producing less milk, as it was natural after almost a full year of breastfeeding, made Rose cranky. She always preferred her mum rather than any food they gave her, and Strike thought this was partially due to her traumas. She didn't want any more changes in her life.

“It's going to be just fine,” assured Strike, tightening his tie knot, before walking over to Robin, who sat on their bed wearing a sober, beige dress, with long sleeves, boat neck and long to below her knees, with a black blazer on, as she adjusted her make-up holding a small mirror in her hand. Her short hair had grown just a little and hung a bit above her shoulders, and her lips were of a pinkish colour.

Strike sat next to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He was wearing his best suit, a Dolce & Gabbana one that Lucy, Greg, Nick and Ilsa had gifted him last Christmas, after his Italian suit had gotten stained with wine at his last encounter with his ex-girlfriend Elin prior to Robin's wedding. This suit was dark and stylish and made his shoulders broad, his body slim and fit, although now he was at least pretty slim, after all the months of Robin's kidnapping had taking their toll on him. Strike paired the suit with a navy blue tie and his prettier shoes. In the meantime, Rose slept in her bassinet, and Robin's youngest brother, Jonathan, who had worked as a babysitter for the entire last summer and who got along with Rose, would stay with her in the attic and babysit her. The Ellacotts had been in London for a couple days now.

“What if it isn't?” asked Robin in a barely audible whisper.

“Regardless of what happens today at the courtroom,” said Strike, his lips millimetres from Robin's ear. “I promise I will protect you both. No one will take you away again.”

“What if they want me arrested?” Robin looked up to him, with fear in her eyes. “What if I lose her custody?”

“We'll go. We'll run away, they will never find us,” promised Strike. “I swear, Robin. You girls are safe. I have a gun in the office's safe and I won't hesitate to shoot a cop if they try to arrest you or take her away.”

Strike was serious and his eyes were full of honesty and compromise. Robin let him envelope her against his chest, feeling instantly safe there, and relaxing when Strike's lips pressed against the top of her head. Strike never failed to comfort her, and Robin always felt better in seconds with him. Her back was now healed-up just enough to allow his hand to press there a little, tightening the hug. The doorbell separated them and Strike opened the door to Jonathan, who looked ready for duty with a backpack on.

“Hi, Jon,” Strike greeted him, moving to let him inside. “Thanks for staying with Rosie while we're at court.”

“No worries, I love spending time with my niece,” Jonathan side smiled, with his short wavy strawberry-blonde hair pointing all directions, and jovially went to hug his sister. “You look beautiful sis.”

“Thank you,” Robin smiled, kissing his cheek. “You're a super uncle, Rosie will be happy to stay with you.”

“The feeling is mutual. I brought 'The Land Before Time', the entire 'Harry Potter saga' and all the modern versions of Disney, so she gets a taste of strong, powerful, princess.” Robin grind and nodded in approval. Jonathan had just finished his studies to become a school teacher, and was planning to start working in Masham's Primary School in September. For now he was an assistant, but they had happily given him free days to support Robin, who had studied there and with whom the teachers were close. According to Martin, Masham had divided between those who supported Robin and those who supported Matthew, but the majority of Mashamers were against Matthew.

“Will you be okay all on your own?”

“Sure thing, no problem,” Jonathan nodded. “I will call Lucy if I need anything.” Robin nodded as well, feeling calmer knowing he was there. Lucy wouldn't be attended the trial, as she wasn't family and, although friend, had to work and care for three children herself, but she had told them she'd keep eyes on the phone in case anything was necessary for Rose, and come quickly if needed.

“We'll be leaving then,” said Strike, grabbing his and Robin's coats from the hangers. “Have fun and remember, do not open the door to anyone at all, even police. And call if anything comes up.”

“Right,” Jonathan made no questions, leaning to check his niece slept and caressing her cheeks lovingly. “Aren't you sweet?” he whispered with a smile.

“We'll be back as soon as we can,” said Robin, leaning to kiss Rose. “I love you poppet, mummy will be right here, you be good for Uncle Jon.”

Strike waited by the door but once he had almost closed the door behind them, he had to turn back and kiss Rose's cheek goodbye, as his conscience betrayed him. The pair walked them to court, Robin nervous and anxious and Strike just anxious, and they met with the rest of the Ellacotts, Nick and Ilsa were there too, as well as Strike's friend Erin Harris and the UK's Ambassador in Doha Mr Nicholas Hopton, who were there as witnesses, since they had both, at some point, gone and seen the state of Robin's house.

“Ready?” Michael asked his daughter, enveloping her in his arms. “We're all with you.”

“Let's get this over with,” said Robin, and they went inside the courtroom, whose access was forbidden to anyone who wasn't friend, family, or involved with the process.

London's Crown Court was a gigantic building with columns at the entrance. The courtroom was all in soft browns and reds and they left Ilsa to sit in her spot in front of the judge with her black tunic and her wig as they sat in different places, depending on whether they were witnesses or just visitors. When the defendant, Matthew, went to sit in his place, he looked briefly at Robin, who directed him an angry glance, along everyone else, and he smiled softly before turning away and sitting down.

“Today,” Ilsa was saying, “we will demonstrate that the defendant maintained a controlling and coercive behaviour against my client. We will prove this man weakened my client's mentality with psychological abuse, humiliating her and controlling her and being physically abusive with her, that he threatened her, and in certain occasions went as far as locking her up in dark rooms with no food for days, so she would bend her will and do as she was told. That Mr Matthew John Cunliffe went as far as abusing his pregnant wife, cut her contact with her entire family and friends, usurping her identity in order to convince them it was my client's wish to vanish and cut contact, control her daily life, her finances and her technological items such as phone or computer, to ensure she would be entirely his and without contact with anyone else, for twenty months. Ladies and gentlemen in the jury,” Ilsa continued, looking a lot like a fierce wolf. “When you make a decision today, remember it will not only affect the destiny and well-being of a young, innocent mother, but also drastically affect the life of young, eleven-months-old Rose Linda Cunliffe, whose mother is here today with the first purpose of doing everything in her hands to protect her from her abusive, dangerous father, a man who was not only an abusive, negligent husband, but also, as we will demonstrate today, a negligent, careless father, who never had the smallest of interest towards his daughter.”

“I didn't know you named Rosie after your mum,” Strike whispered. Robin smiled sadly.

“Matthew didn't want to make any decisions about her, as long as they didn't affect his life,” Robin whispered. “So I chose the name I wanted. He didn't even want to care for her. I missed my mum, and I was sad she wasn't here to meet Rosie... I knew I wanted her to have her some way.”

Strike squeezed her hand under the table. Matthew was pleading not guilty, so when the time came for witnesses to speak out, Erin was called first.

“Detective Cormoran Strike is an old friend of mine from the army,” said Erin. “He told me he feared something bad might've happened to his friend and former business partner, Robin, and asked my help to find her. He was willing to register every city in the world and he suspected she may be in Doha, due to its richness, the job opportunities it presented for the defendant, and the law and religion that would make it easy for the defendant to abuse his wife without anyone raising a finger to protect her. I was living there, so I told him to come and we would look around together.”

“What did you find out?” asked Ilsa.

“Nothing at first. No one seemed to know either Robin or her husband, so at first we thought she wasn't there, and I took Cormoran to an ice-cream by the sea, consolation prize, you know. Then our attention was called by a baby's cries, and when we looked, we were so lucky to find it was little Rosie crying. We had no idea Robin had a child, since no one had heard of her in so long, so at first I didn't realise the woman holding the baby and calming it down was Robin. She was disguised as an Arabian Woman, covered head to toe with those tunics and veils, and I had never met Robin before, so nothing to see. But Cormoran, he immediately recognised her and he told me, so we decided to just follow around, see if she was in any actual danger. Robin had been described to me as a brave, confident woman, but the woman I saw was nothing like that. She was visibly scared, and I immediately picked that up. She was rushing, very scared, insecure, vulnerable... her lip had dry blood from a nasty cut, I remember. We followed her to her building and managed to get her to keep the door open for us, thinking we were neighbours, as it was a skyscraper, she wouldn't know all of them,” explained Erin. “She didn't speak Arab, as we checked, so we knew she wasn't integrated in the community. Both Cormoran and I speak Arab, so we conversed in said language to check if she seemed to understand, and she just looked more terrified to hear us. It wasn't until we were all in the lift that she saw who we were and she crumbled in tears, she was scared to death of her husband, she told us, and only Cormoran could comfort her. She told us there that she wasn't there on free will, that she had been kidnapped, that she was afraid of her husband and he was violent with her, so I took her and Rosie to my flat and Cormoran went to see Matthew. I called the Ambassador, since I work at the Embassy, and he ordered me to keep the girls safe, and once Matthew was arrested, he gave me orders to send Strike, Robin and Rosie back to London.”

“How did you find Robin, once at your flat?”

“She was a bit more calmed down,” replied Erin. “But still visibly scared, easy to startle. I observed she was in pain and managed to get her to let me take a look, and I saw her back was bloody and in flesh from whipping, absolutely destroyed. I did the little I could to make her feel better, I consoled her and let her cry in my arms and gave her painkillers and she fell asleep on one of the beds of my flat, so I entertained Rosie playing until Cormoran came back.”

“How was Rosie?”

“She was anxious about not having her mum at sight, and untrustworthy of strangers, but I had toys and managed to make her relax a little. Took her a while, because she had gotten so tense and anxious, but eventually she was alright with me.”

“Was Rosie in any way hurt?”

“No,” confirmed Erin. “She had no bruises or cuts, I had to change her diaper while Cormoran came, as Robin practically passed out on the bed... so I got to remove some clothes off Rosie and confirm she was fine.”

“For what you saw,” continued Ilsa, “did my client seem negligent towards her daughter?”

“Not at all,” replied Erin. “When it was time, Robin was up to feed Rosie, and play with her. I could see how much Rosie loves her, while she never seemed to miss the defendant. Rosie sought her mother, and her mother responded showering her with love and affection, giving her her full attention. I saw how Robin even hid her own sadness just to smile for her child and make her laugh and be happy. She wouldn't even eat before Rosie.”

“So would you say Rose is happy with Robin?”

“Absolutely.”

“And what happened when Detective Strike came back?”

“He told me he had had to punch Cunliffe and tie him up to make sure he wouldn't run away from justice, and he took care of the girls while I went to the Embassy to update the Ambassador and have him come with the police to see Cunliffe and the girls. Cormoran asked me to find a doctor for Robin, and told me he had gotten photographic evidence and a full recorded confession and that he would call Scotland Yard, a friend in the army who had also been trying to find Robin, and you so you'd inform her family she was safe.”

“When did you get to see the Cunliffes' flat?”

“Well, shortly after that I took Cormoran and the girls to the airport, and then I went there, where the Ambassador and the police were already waiting. I found BDSM material, blood drops here and there, already dry, a closet full of blood stained whips, blood stained bed sheets... the defendant had a broken nose and no other injuries, and was handcuffed and speaking with the Ambassador and the police. There were no photographs, and I remember finding it strange that there was no bassinet or crib in the master bedroom, since the nursery was in the opposite of the house and I figured it was weird a baby so young wasn't left to sleep closer to her parents.”

“Was there any evidence, as far as you could see, that the defendant had had any questionable behaviour at the flat?” inquired Ilsa, relentless.

“Uhm...” Erin stopped a moment to think. “Well the blood, that police later found was Robin's, that was definitely to freak you out. The flat had this general vibe, the moment you went in, of somewhere where you didn't want to be. All the windows were grilled despite being like, a tenth floor, and with the blinds low, and it wasn't homey at all, everything was white and marble and stone, no photographs or decoration whatsoever. There was a closet full of things, such as whips, long sticks, sexual stuff, ropes... and they were all bloodstained to some level. You could see in deep when the police pointed with their lanterns. And for what police said, all windows were locked, and the door had three locks. Weirdest of all, one empty closet, big enough for a person to fit, had three locks and no lights, no ventilation and nothing inside except darkness, and there were marks on the door from inside, nail marks, as if someone had tried to get out. Look, I've been, for tourism, to places like Auschwitz, and some of the things I'm describing were very common there.”

Strike looked at Robin, who was looking down and had a trembling lip and eyes closed. Strike didn't think twice before putting an arm around her and bringing her close, kissing the top of her head.

“You're safe,” Strike whispered. She relaxed in his arms.

Eventually it was the Ambassador Mr Nicholas Hopton's turn, and he adjusted his tie as he prepared to declare.

“Mr Hopton, please describe everything you saw upon entering the flat,” said Ilsa. He nodded.

“Everything was as Mr Strike had described for us, I can't say anything Ms Harris hasn't already said, except that, as Mr Strike told us, we found Mr Cunliffe locked in a closet full of the BDSM stuff, with a broken nose but no bruises nor scratches or other visible wounds, tied to a chair. The police and I had already heard the recording Mr Strike obtained of Mr Cunliffe's full confession, so we simply arrested Mr Cunliffe and at the police's headquarters, he was interrogated. Doha police asked me to communicate to my country that a fellow British citizen was being investigated for kidnapping and torture.”

“So Doha police thought Mr Cunliffe had kidnapped and tortured his wife, is that what you're saying?”

“Yes,” Mr Hopton nodded affirmatively.

“What's your personal opinion?”

“Well I'm just an Ambassador but... I think he did it. I saw the victim, she looked the most devastated I've seen a woman look. Putting a brave face for her child and withstanding what must've been incredibly painful cures from the doctor without a single whimper, that tells you that pain is nothing for someone who's been abused so gravely.”

“Thank you Mr Hopton. Last questions, why did you trust Ms Harris and Detective Strike with my client's safety and why did you consider Mrs Cunliffe and her child needed to get out of Qatar?”

“They both have jaw-dropping curriculums, they're trustworthy and their fame precedes them. They're both decorated ex-soldiers and they both, particularly Mr Strike, of course, showed immense care for Mrs Cunliffe. I thought I left her in the best hands, accompanied at all times by someone like Mr Strike, who was willing to register entire cities for her, who was an old, dear friend of her, and who I knew would keep her and her baby safe and comforted. I knew she needed to leave that country – regardless of Mr Cunliffe being guilty or not, you know? I saw a woman who was suffering tremendously and urgently needed to go home with her family, and a baby who would benefit tremendously from going with her, and I chose to help them and give them the best available, which were Ms Harris and Detective Strike,” explained Mr Hopton. Robin felt a wave of gratefulness for such strangers. “Look, for me in that moment, it wasn't about whether a crime had been committed or not, it was about finding a deeply injured compatriot, defenceless and vulnerable somewhere she clearly didn't want to be in. No job in Qatar, no reason to stick around. And I'm the Ambassador, I was chosen to take care of the Brits in Qatar, so I felt I had failed my duty to protect her and it was my new duty to do everything at hand to find her a proper medical attention, at her home, with her family, where no one would hurt her, and get the main suspect arrested.”

“He's so sweet,” Robin murmured, leaning against Strike's shoulder. He nodded, squeezing her close.

  
  


 


	12. Begging for truth

Afterwards, it was time for Doctor Catwell, the middle-aged woman who attended Robin in London, to declare.

“Doctor Catwell, based on your experience, knowledge and your work with Mrs Cunliffe, could you give us your professional view of what you think must've happened to her?” asked Ilsa, not showing any signs of tiredness.

“Absolutely,” Doctor Catwell nodded. “Mrs Cunliffe first came to me with her back in flesh and blood. Her whole back was an infected, open wound, and the doctor who first attended her in Qatar hadn't been able to barely touch her in the moment because, for the pictures I've seen, the wound was even more raw and bloody than I saw it, and without proper anaesthesia, it'd be crazy to attempt treatment, it would only cause her further trauma, which is why to this day, I always have to anaesthetise her whole back, even parts of the shoulders and bottom, to even touch the area. The gravity and depth of those wounds, that will always leave deep scars, suggests a great deal of whipping. I've seen similar wounds in victims of torture who've withstood hundreds of whipping, and I also found enough evidence to believe it didn't happen once or twice, but repeatedly over months. The victim developed a high pain tolerance, which tends to happen after you've hurt so badly everything else seems nothing. She also had bruises and scratches everywhere and a scan revealed old bone fractures, in total, six broken ribs, a broken wrist, a broken clavicle... they had healed mostly fine, thankfully, but they'll still bother for the rest of her life, most likely. To inflict such wounds, some being months old, others more recent or older, she would've had to either have repeated, very violent car crashes, or be beaten up frequently, which, given her state, I find more than likely. She must've been hit with great force indeed. There was a cut in her lip that suggested she was punched, and there was plenty of evidence of sexual abuse as well. Mr Cunliffe's DNA was the only one found in her,” continued Doctor Catwell, making herself easy to understand. “Aside from this, I've had to treat her for depression, anxiety, claustrophobia, stress, sleep disturbances, and, in short, a case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, for which I've recommended she sees a psychotherapist as soon as she feels strong enough. All of these symptoms wouldn't be there if she hadn't suffered a very traumatic experience, similar to that of war prisoners.”

Then, Rosie's doctor was called up. Doctor Donovan was a young guy with a sympathetic expression and big eyes. He was made the same question about Rose.

“Well, a baby her age should already be showing interest in walking and talking, but she's absolutely uninterested, which is often seen in babies that have witnessed domestic violence. Rose is not comfortable at all with strangers, not to the point of freaking out a little like other babies, but to the point of absolutely panicking if a stranger attempts to touch her. She sleeps little and eats little and is a little underweight, and shows signs of restlessness, struggling to remain calm in one spot, and she loses it completely upon loud noises, particularly those of yelling, as I witnessed once when, while in consult with me, two strangers started fighting outside the room. She wailed for the longest time and she only calmed down after her mother's relentless attempts. Regardless of all of this, she has somehow managed to remain being a generally very happy child, but his only serves to point out majorly to her issues, as this making the contrast bigger. Most of the time she's happy and cheerful, but she easily feels scared, she easily panics, she easily loses her cool, and she's becoming very clingy of her mother which, given the situation, could be great for her, because she's found one thing that makes her feel safe, secure and loved. Time will tell how much she gets affected by all of this. If she's in fact witnessed domestic violence since before she was even born, the consequences could remain forever.”

“What would you advice for baby Rose's future, in your professional opinion?”

“Uhm...” Doctor Donovan shrugged. “She sure needs to remain by her mother's side, where she seems to feel the most at ease and happy.”

The defendant barrister's questions hadn't instilled doubt in these witnesses' testimonies so far, as he had attempted to show that perhaps the baby should be with her father and perhaps the baby is not really so happy with her mother, but these witnesses had assured that the baby never seemed negatively affected by her father's absence and that she was happy and content with her mother and, even, with Strike's company. So after these four witnesses, Ilsa wasn't tired yet and hadn't even started, to her considerations, and she brought Strike in to declare.

“Mr Strike, could you introduce yourself to this jury, please?” asked Ilsa, lightly amused by the strange feeling of interrogating her best friend.

“Sure,” replied Strike, looking all smart and handsome in his suit. “I'm Detective Cormoran Strike, ex SIB Sergeant in the Royal Military Police. I served for thirteen years, and opened my agency five years ago.”

“What's your relationship to Mrs Cunliffe?”

“I hired her as my secretary early in 2010, and soon she was promoted to business partner, due to her invaluable skills and intelligence. Now she's one of my best friends and I was even invited to her wedding to the defendant.”

“What's your relationship with the defendant like and what's your vision of their relationship?”

“Well, for a long time after I met Robin, I didn't know him,” said Strike, “I only knew what Robin told me, that they were engaged, for example. She seemed happy with him. But their relationship deteriorated very fast after she came to work with me. In my understanding, as a detective who has a great deal of perception and a friend, their problems were deep and complex, and after all these years I've come to understand that the chore of things was that for many years Robin wasn't fully happy nor doing what she really want, her dream was to be a detective, her entire life, and she couldn't be that, and her fiancé was used to being the focus of her attention and admiration, as she didn't have a life of her own, sort to say. When she started working for me, she became someone passionate about her job, who loves her job and doesn't care about salaries or hours or work. The business was struggling and so we needed to work many hours for very little money, and so the defendant had enormous issues with this and would often storm on Robin and go as far as accusing her of cheating on him with me. I very often saw Robin come to work crestfallen because once again they had fought and it always seemed to be the same; whatever she did, it wasn't good enough for Mr Cunliffe, so it made him dislike him before I even knew him, because he clearly didn't seem to appreciate the woman he was to marry. He demanded of her to make money for them, but working less hours, and he made comments about me that Robin disliked for their rudeness, he showed himself not to trust Robin, but then if she felt jealous about his relationship with a Sarah Shadlock, then he would pretend nothing was going on. So in the end it was as if he had the right to do the hell he wanted but Robin didn't, as if she was less than him. I met the defendant after almost a year of working with Robin, at the end of 2010, and I immediately noticed that the dislike I felt for him was mutual. The defendant seemed to disapprove everything I was or did, and Robin and I's work, and entertained himself talking about his achievements. Never once in the whole dinner we shared did he interest on Robin's work.”

“So it hadn't been a year of you working together and the relationship was already breaking?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Strike nodded. “I distinctly remember that, in that dinner where we met, I asked how had they met, and Mr Cunliffe said, and I quote in verbatum, that, 'it wasn't a big school' and 'she was the only girl who was fanciable', he claimed he had, I quote, 'no choice'. I have a privileged memory, trained by the army,” he added. “That's how Mr Cunliffe spoke of his future wife. And I saw her expression of trying to force herself to smile, and I hated him for doing that to her. I thought she deserved better.”

“Was Mr Cunliffe ever right to suspect you harboured feelings for her?” asked Ilsa, and Strike understood he didn't have to be fully honest – just convince the jury.

“No. At that time I was dating a BBC violinist called Elin Toft, and I was still on recovery from a sixteen years long damaging relationship, so I wasn't going to be so stupid to even look at Robin that way. To me she was a little sister, someone I felt protective towards and someone with whom I worked daily and to a certain point, admired. I thought she deserved better, but I never thought she should be with me instead. I thought a woman like that didn't need any man, in fact.”

Strike gave a nod towards Robin, who smiled soft. Erin, next to her, held her hand and Strike knew she was okay.

“So Mr Strike, what did you witness from that to the wedding?”

“I saw a crumbling relationship,” Strike sighed. “Like I said, I had had an awful relationship myself, abusive even, so I saw the repeated patterns. The blaming and accusations and eventually... in 2011, just a bit before the wedding, Robin found out that her fiancé had had sex with his, in the moment, friend and co-worker, Sarah Shadlock. This had happened, if Robin doesn't mind I tell,” Robin gave him a reassuring smile and a nod in answer, and Strike continued, “back in university, when Robin had suffered rape and attempted murder and had been agoraphobic for a year. Apparently during that time, her fiancé, as he claimed, had felt lonely and cheated with Sarah, while he had dated Robin since school. He never had the balls to tell the truth and even in this occasion, Robin didn't find out because of his sudden honesty, but because she had become a top shelf detective at a stunning speed,” Robin felt a knot in her throat of gratitude towards him for his sweetness and admiration. “Then Robin came to me, completely broken,” Strike recalled, “and they separated for a few days. Robin was obviously angry and sad and didn't trust him as much anymore. She was even more pissed she was the one whose faithfulness was always questioned, while he had cheated and she hadn't.”

“Did you tell her to leave him then?”

“I wish I had,” Strike admitted. “But no. I just tried to be there and take care of her. Paid her a hotel for one night, then took her on a work-related road-trip for a couple days, we were investigating in Barrow-in-Furness at the moment, for the Shacklewell Ripper if the jury must know. She didn't want to be anywhere near her fiancé and had taken her ring off, but she never went and found someone else. She just threw herself into work. She was literally working every minute, caught her in the office on Sundays even. Robin was struggling a lot, but I knew there was a chance they'd get back together, so I didn't want to talk shit of her fiancé or anything, just be there for her.”

“So they got back together. Then?” asked Ilsa.

“Then she seemed happy and her fiancé seemed to be behaving all nicely now, better than in ages I'd say, she was suddenly calmer and more relaxed. She went off to dress fittings up in Masham, her hometown,” Strike explained. “And I continued working, gave her the days she wanted, she never took days off so, I was glad she was resting a little, seeing her parents, you know...” he continued. “And eventually we had a professional disagreement, which led to a big fight between us over how to proceed with our case, and I rudely sacked her, to be honest. I'm conscious this was devastating for her, and right before the wedding. But very quickly afterwards the Shacklewell Ripper was arrested and so was another criminal Robin had been worried about, so everything ended fine, and I realised I had made a terrible mistake and rushed to her wedding in Masham, to which I hadn't been disinvited, to apologise and rehire her. I missed Robin, I felt shit for the fight, and I knew she had been right in the argument at last. I called her several times but it looked as if she had blocked my number.”

“So did you talk at the wedding?” Strike nodded. “What happened?”

“I apologised,” replied Strike. “Told her I had been a royal jerk. Congratulated her on the wedding. She was exuberant to see me there, not angry nor resentful, she apologised as well, wanted me to tell her about the case, so I did, she was happy to know it all ended well and we agreed she'd be back as my full partner after a fortnight of honeymoon. I commented she'd have to unblock me so we could talk and catch up every now and then, and she was confounded. She had no idea what I was talking about.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ilsa then.

“Well, she said she hadn't blocked me. She went to ask her mum for her cell-phone, to see what the problem was. Her mum kept it with her during the ceremony, as the wedding dress had no pockets,” said Strike in a tone that made Robin hide a giggle against her hand. She was conscious the jury looked at her too. “Robin couldn't believe I was indeed blocked. I know when to identify a liar because it's part of the job, and she was sincerely stunned. She said she didn't understand, fixed the situation and told me to stay in touch, and to make sure to catch up with her on our new clients even while she was on honeymoon. So I tried to.”

“You tried?”

“Couldn't do it. I managed to speak with her the first couple days of honeymoon and then I was not just blocked again, her phone number seemed not to exist any longer and she completely vanished for the rest of her honeymoon. I was worried sick and full of work but I planned on going to Masham and talking with her family, see if they knew anything. I had met Robin's mum, Linda, on one occasion previous to the wedding and then at the wedding, and we got along, so I knew I'd be well-received. But before I could do so, Robin's parents came to see me in London,” explained Strike. “And they were the most worried, said they had received a text from Robin saying she was very busy and wouldn't be able to talk with them for a few days as they settled in the new house, that the families had gotten them for their married life. They wanted me to find out what was going on, so,” Strike made a pause to drink from a glass of water he had been given, “I went to the address of the house, that they gave me, and no one opened the door. The blinds were down, looked like no one was home, everything was fully locked. I made guard outside for several days but no one came in or out, so I told Robin's family and they were so worried, I decided to speak with the Cunliffes. I knew, because Robin had told me, that the defendant had a living father and sister in Masham, so I went there, they claimed not to have heard from their son either. We went to the police, but seeing that text Robin had sent, although now I know it had actually been her husband who sent it, they refused to investigate, said she was gone on free will.”

“And then what happened?”

“I called DI Wardle in Scotland Yard, he had worked with us before and was fond of Robin, and I called some army friends to see if anyone could find out anything. We needed a warrant to go into the house in question, and we couldn't obtain one, but then a few days later I managed to find a neighbour who identified Robin and her husband and said they had left the house. Then, the Cunliffes and the Ellacotts all got a text saying Robin and husband had decided to move away and start over somewhere else, and they wished to stop all contact with the families. They were heartbroken.”

For the next half an hour, Strike went on to explain what the next months were like his frenetic search of Robin, what had happened in Qatar, every single thing.

  
  


 


	13. Sentimental memories

Ilsa proceeded to call all the Ellacotts with the exception of, obviously, Jonathan, and they all declared pretty much the same things. How sad they had been, and worried, how weird it all was, and how sure they were Robin would never do those things, that it had had to be Matthew, because their Robin wasn't like that. The Cunliffes had decided to declare in favour of their son-sibling, so Ilsa didn't call them. Wardle and Hardy declared pretty much what Strike had said, and how impossible it had been to find traces of Robin. And Robin and her had agreed she wouldn't be called to declare, because Robin didn't think she'd be able to go there and not crumble. So instead, Strike was called to read Robin's Witness Statement, that was this, and that was read with a grave poet's voice:

_I, Robin Venetia Cunliffe (née Ellacott)declare that the facts in this statement come from my personal knowledge and experience, and I believe that the facts stated in this witness statement are true._

_On March 2010, I accepted to marry Matthew John Cunliffe after then nine years of relationship that begun in the sixth form in school. Those were, to me, nine years in which he truly made me happy, and I truly felt loved and I truly loved him, and I was thrilled when he proposed to me. So I said yes and started living with him in Hastings Road, London, after moving here from our native Masham three months previously. By then, my fiancé had been living here for longer, and he advised me in the best way he knew on how to live here._

_A traumatic experience in university had forced me to end my education abruptly after a man tried to kill me, and raped me, so I never graduated in psychology and thus when I moved here I had trouble finding a job and Matthew recommended I do temporal jobs, so that's what I did, and that's how I came to Denmark Street, to Mr Cormoran Strike's agency, and met him and was hired by him. Being a detective had always been my dream, for as long as I can remember, but I had long resigned myself and accepted I'd have to work in human resources. However, my success working as Mr Strike's secretary led me to be offered a permanent position with him, so I cut ties with the temp jobs agency and I rejected a job I had been offered for human resources. It didn't matter to me that I made much less money than I would in human resources, or that I worked unpredictable hours depending on our cases; I was living my childhood dream and I had never been so happy in my entire life, and London no longer seemed a new, hostile environment, but a place to call my home. However, Matthew was continuously harsh on me for my choices, and continuously recriminated me for them, and judged my friend and boss, Mr Strike, and myself, making us look in his mind as awful people. To me, Mr. Strike was and has always been a honourable man, war hero and heroic, intelligent, skilled detective, and a kind-hearted man full of good intentions who always behaved in the best of manners with me. To my fiancé, Mr. Strike was a despicable legless man, and he didn't hesitate to bring up all flaws he considered Mr Strike to have at all times, even things as stupid as the fact that he was without half a leg. Matthew, to my eyes, seemed to have a need to bring others down in order to make himself look better, and he grew increasingly insufferable when I became my own person, happy and proud of my own achievements, and no longer drooling after him in the way I imagine I had done my entire life._

_Your honour, members of jury, I can assure you working with Mr Strike became the highlight of my days and my happiest times. It hadn't so much to do with Mr Strike; I genuinely enjoyed tremendously bringing truth to those who sought it, catching murders and uncovering the truth. It was a job that made me feel, for the first time since being raped, like I could be my own person again, I felt powerful and like I could take care of myself and needed no one else. I felt I was finally doing a big, good thing, on my own, and that I was exceptionally good at it. I continuously hoped my fiancé would also feel happy and proud of me, and admire me in the way others in my life did, and want to hear from my work days and compliment my hard work and bravery in the way I always tried to do with him, but I never seemed to be good enough for him and it always caused me heartache. But regardless of it all, I swear on everything I own, I would never have been unfaithful to Matthew. I loved him, despite it all, and had faith everything would be better once he met Mr Strike and realised he was a good, honourable man, and he didn't have to be jealous or angry anymore. I thought it was a matter of time before Matthew understood me and loved me for who I am, a detective, and encouraged me instead of trying to keep me a housemaid who somehow, he expected to bring tons of money into the house. But it never happened. Matthew and I wanted to marry, get a good house near good schools, and raise our children together. So I dreamed that would happen and that somehow, at some point, he would come to accept and love me, fully me, and not just the part that did things for him._

_Mr Strike was always polite regarding my fiancé, and we never really talked much about our personal lives at work. I had little idea of what his personal life was like, but I have always been very transparent on my emotions and I knew he would instantly know something was wrong if I looked at him for too long in the eyes or came home after crying at night. So the more time passed, the more trouble I found at home, the least I wished to be home, and the more I worried Mr. Strike would notice I was struggling and think less of me. Of course he noticed, I'm sure, but he was always too kind and polite to say anything, but somehow always knew when to give me space, and started letting me tag along to crime scenes and training me and teaching me. He seemed to know I needed to work, and he always found ways to make me feel involved and like I mattered._

_Now I look back, I see that when I had first gotten engaged, I was so excited about it and dying to plan wedding things and tell all my friends, and show everyone my new, exuberant, sapphire ring. However, ten months post engagement, when we should've married but we couldn't due to my mother-in-law's tragic sudden passing, I was no longer excited. I was no longer happy to make wedding plans and my fiancé and I argued every single day, pretty much. He was jealous, he didn't trust me, he accused me falsely, and he criticized everything I did, my passion (my job), and my best friend Cormoran, who was, may I point out, my only friend in London. And I had grown sick of Matthew's relationship with his friend Sarah Shadlock, who was always flirting with him on my face, to his visible enjoyment and my evident jealousy, and who always knew what to say to stir tension between Matthew and I. On some occasions, she went as far as to talk about Cormoran as if he was a piece of meat and she teased whether I had a secret attraction for him or not. I never harboured any sort of romantic feelings towards Cormoran, and I never once felt sexually attracted to him. I only ever had eyes for Matthew._

Strike read that part trying not to feel anything towards the words, and remember Robin had written that for the jury and didn't have to mean anything. It had been three years. Maybe she liked him now.

_Next came six months of trouble. At work, we were investigating the series of murders of girls, responsible of which was Donald Laing, who had also threatened me indirectly on two occasions, sending body parts to me and freaking me out. Evidently, I was tense, and so was Matthew and Cormoran, who were both overprotective of me and driving me insane, to be honest. But I decided I wanted to work and catch the bastard and only then I'd breathe calm, and there was nothing they could do to stop me. It was then that I found our that Matthew had cheated on me with Sarah Shadlock when I had been raped. He had not only done that, but he very frequently those days rubbed on my face how I hadn't been for him enough when his mother died -which I admit wasn't good on my part- while he had, and he wouldn't let me live it down, dropped everything, included exams, to be for me when I had been attacked. Turns out he had yes, been there for me during the first couple days, and then gone off to maintain an affair with Sarah for the full year I was suffering from PTSD and agoraphobia locked at home in Masham._

_This betrayal affected me enormously, and I was miserable for days, leaving Matthew and my ring, but not seeking another man, just work. I worked, and worked, and tried to catch Laing, feeling angry at those men in my life that had caused me so much suffering. I never quite called my wedding off and after a work-related trip to Barrow-in-Furness with Cormoran, who always took care of me and made sure I stayed healthy and safe, my mum gave me advice to make a firm decision once and for all, and Matthew begged, and I would up coming back to him._

_At first, we were the happiest we had been since our engagement, but this only lasted a couple days or so. In June, 2011, less than a month before I married Matthew on July 2 nd, Donald Laing tried to kill me and sliced my arm. I managed to fight back, saving my own life, and thus becoming the first and only survivor of Donald Laing's attacks. Then Cormoran tried to push me from work and send me home to keep me safe, and Matthew went behind my back, as I later found out, to ask Cormoran to sack me and claim he was being irresponsible letting me work. By then Cormoran and I were partners; he had absolutely no business deciding when I could work or not._

_Tension quickly grew at home, and Cormoran and I saw our investigation get more complicated as we found out about another crime unrelated to our case, that we both wanted to resolve but had different views in how to, which led us to fight, and eventually I was sacked because I went and acted behind Cormoran's back, risking our agency's survival. So I went to Masham to marry. I remember for days I hoped calls from Cormoran that never came. I hoped for apologies, to get my job back, and I cried and cried because my dream was over and all I had left to do was marrying, and them I didn't know what I'd do, where would I work, how would I support my family with Matthew._

_Unbeknownst to me until my honeymoon, when I got Matthew to confess it, Matthew had taken the opportunity, one time I lent him my phone believing his lie that his was without battery and he had to call his Dad, to block Cormoran's number so he couldn't communicate with me again. That had been two days before our wedding or so, and right after I had been sacked, so those weren't days I had time to look at my phone much and notice myself. I only realised of it when at my wedding, Cormoran apologised and told me how much he had called and we fixed things, and then during our honeymoon I had suspected what Matthew had done, confronted, and gotten a confession. This came after I had several times caught Matthew using my laptop without permission (having one himself) just to check my search history and mail accounts. How did I notice this? Because I'm a detective and I am not stupid._

Strike had to make a conscious effort not to smile and keep reading just as normally.

_The reason I give a full account on the year and a half previous to the events that bring us here, is because all of those events led me to be here today as well. All those events wound up on my husband kidnapping me during our honeymoon, beating me up, threatening me, insulting me, psychologically abuse me, sexually abuse me, and thus leaving me pregnant with our only child, my daughter Rose Linda Cunliffe. From 2010, it was a spiral of tension and catastrophe leading to my absolute misery after my wedding to Matthew._

_When the honeymoon ended I was full of bruises, devastated, mentally broken and feeling absolutely like shit, excuse the expression. I was so easy to manipulate, given the state Matthew had put me in, that he had no issue locking me in the attic of our new house, in complete darkness and without food for days. It stills baffles me that my suffering didn't end the life of my daughter, but I guess we're survivors. This lasted three months, as I found out when I finally was let out of the attic and my husband informed me my birthday was soon, as it is on October 9 th. For three months, I was given three meals a week, thus leaving me in a state of weakness I couldn't fight for myself. I was throwing up constantly despite my lack of food, and I became afraid I had gotten pregnant. I had spent three months locked in the dark, with no company other than my husband's occasional forced sex, or his beatings up, breaking some bones, so it could've easily happened. Matthew than acquired a pregnancy test for me and I was revealed to be pregnant and, by my lack of periods, I calculated it had been during our honeymoon._

_The pregnancy meant Matthew decided not to put a finger on me until the baby was born. That didn't mean nine months of calmness and relaxation; my husband had faked to be me, taken all control I had over my life, and made our families believe I no longer wished to see them again, and it broke my heart. I had no credit card, no job, no car -he destroyed my Land Rover-, no phone, no computer, and my access to things was restricted. Once we moved to a house in Birmingham, I wasn't allowed to ever leave the house under any terms, not even to the garden, and I was only allowed to be in the kitchen, bathroom or bedroom. I couldn't watch the TV either. Matthew got a new job that paid very well and he could work from home, so he made sure to keep these restrictions on me. The threats to mine and my friends and family's lives were constant, he had a gun with him, and if I tried to escape, which I did a few times, or simply disappointed him in any way -such as not making food delicious enough-, he would slap me or whip my back, the only forms of aggression he used while I was pregnant._

_I never saw a doctor during my pregnancy, so I consider Rose to be a miracle. Matthew never allowed a doctor to approach me and we soon moved to Doha, Qatar, where I was forced to dress like a Muslim, Arabian woman, covered from head to toe. Matthew wanted to have a boy, so when our baby wound up being a girl, he decided to be negligent and not care for her. Due to this, I named her on my own, and I cared for her on my own. Matthew wouldn't buy things for her either, only what was strictly necessary to keep her alive. I was the one doing everything Rosie required, and despite it all, I loved her with all of my heart and I will always do. Rose became my only friend, family, companion and happiness, and I knew I was all she had and doubted we'll ever come back home, so I just focused on being the best mother I could be._

_Of course having a baby means she will sometimes cry, get sick, or be overly demanding, and Matthew, who wanted me all for himself, wouldn't have this, but I was no longer pregnant and Matthew forced me into birth control to ensure I wouldn't be. This way, I was beaten up every day. Raped, whipped, punched, kicked, thrown things at... he did it all. He liked aggressive rough sex and he liked to see me cry and beg and he would often threaten with murdering our baby if I ever tried anything. If I was good to his standards, I was allowed to go out to shop for the house once a day every couple days, which was how Cormoran found us._

_Matthew's cruelty had no limits. He not only drugged me now and then to derange, perturb and weaken me, but he also informed me when I would have a broken bone, and which one would it be, so I spent days dreading it, screaming for mercy and going mad with anticipation. He drove me insane and if it wasn't for Rosie, I know I wouldn't have survived. It didn't matter how incredible and agonizing the suffering was, when I looked at my precious daughter's smile and beautiful eyes, I felt it was something healing, and that it was essential to survive for her. There was no other option. If I died, he'd kill her. He'd often hold her through the window of our tenth floor flat, threatening to drop me, and she'd cry and I'd cry and beg, so I knew what he was capable of. I forced myself to live, and I forced myself to not go completely crazy, so everyday I reminded myself of my name, who my friends and my family were, and I told Rosie about them so it would help me keep my mind in check, and I'd tell her about London, and Masham, and my family's horses and farm, and dreamed of a better day._

_Cormoran Strike saved mine and my daughter's lives, and he wasn't the only one. We owe our lives to Nick and Ilsa Herbert, to my parents and rest of my family, to Cormoran's family and friends like DI Wardle or Graham Hardacre, to Erin Harris, to Ambassador Nicholas Hopton, and, if all goes well as I expect, to all of you, members of jury and judge._

_Writing these words have cost me a lot of effort and tears, but I keep looking up at my daughter, my family and my friends for strength. My marriage, that I hope will be soon terminated, has been the worst experience of my life, has been a focus of trauma and I know the effects of it will be in me forever. I can only hope my daughter doesn't have to carry the mental scars from it for too long, and that we can both grow to be fully happy. But now, I need you to understand this is not about getting justice for me. I just ask for justice for my sweet little girl. I want her to be safe and surrounded by those who truly love her and care for her. By her Uncle Cormoran, who sings her to sleep and hugs her when she cries and plays with her when she's bored, by my parents, who never hesitate to care for her whenever necessary, everyone else in my family who loves her so much, like my brother Jon who is now babysitting her and making sure she's happy while we're here, and all of my best friends who always put her first and who are planning her very first birthday party already. My baby doesn't need Matthew, and he was always negligent of her. My baby needs what Matthew stole from her; this beautiful country, with our wonderful people, our amazing family and our incredible friends. She doesn't need his violence, his threats, his unfairness, Qatar. And I would rather die than let anyone put her near the threat Matthew Cunliffe is. He is a dangerous man and nothing will make me forget the pain he's put me through. The scars on my back will always remind me of him._

_I'm not a perfect person or a perfect mother. But I beg you let me try to be perfect for my daughter and don't force us to be submitted to Matthew Cunliffe's cruelty ever again. We won't survive this twice._

  
  


 


	14. They like me for no reason

When Strike went back to his seat, the entire room was in silence except for some sniffling here and there, Ilsa had lost three layers of colour, Matthew was dead serious, the jury looked horrified and Robin was crying her eyes out in Erin's arms. When Strike sat, Robin moved to search for the comfort of his arms, and he enveloped her and whispered soothing things, keeping her in his arms as the defence witnesses declared. This list was very short; only Matthew, his sister, father and damn Sarah Shadlock, to talk shit of Robin and say how much of a wonderful father and husband Matthew was and how violent and crazy Robin was. But it became clear to Strike they had won, and he wasn't surprised when Matthew was declared guilty of two counts of kidnapping, one of torture, negligence towards his daughter, sexual abuse, and the list went on and on, until he was finally sentenced to thirty years of prison, without possibility of being bailed out or released for good behaviour, and he was also sentenced to total loss of custody over Rose, and given a restraining order from Robin and Rose.

“You will never be allowed to contact in any way either Robin or Rose,” said the judge. “And you won't be allowed to ever live or visit the same county in which either Robin, Rose, these witnesses or Robin and Rose's family live, and notice I say county, not just city or town. You will have to accept the victim's divorce terms, and once you're released from prison you will remain on probation for the rest of your life.”

**. . .**

They all reunited in the big Herberts' house with Lucy and company after the trial for lunch. Jon brought Rosie and Robin and her hugged and fell asleep together in the room Strike had occupied for quite some time, so Robin skipped lunch, but she was far too tired to care. Rosie had already eaten and was more than happy to nap with her mum. Robin had thanked everyone a thousand times, and while she slept, the Ellacotts, the Herberts, and Strike with his sister's family and Erin -the Ambassador had had to run back to Qatar- enjoyed a calm lunch together.

After a while, Strike missed Robin and Rosie, so he went to their room and knocked softly.

“Yes?” he heard Robin's soft voice.

“Cormoran,” Strike replied. “May I come in?”

“Yes...”

Strike opened the door ever so slowly and smiled seeing Robin lying on her back on the bed, and Rosie climbing over her holding onto her t-shirt and babbling. Robin smiled softly at him and Rosie followed her eyes to Strike and let out a squeal.

“Hello, poppet,” Strike sat on the feet of the bed and giggled softly at Rose's squeals. “I missed you all day.” Strike caressed her short hair like a dog.

“She loves you,” Robin commented, amused, as Rose changed her route to grab onto Strike's beard.

“Must be the only kid ever to do that,” Strike commented. His eyes travelled to Robin as he kept a hand on Rosie's arm to control her strength. He saw the bags under her tired eyes, the paleness of her face and her graceless hair. She was just without the brightness she had when they met. “How are you doing?”

“Bit shit,” Robin let a long breath out. “But you know what I noticed today?”

“What?”

“My heart didn't break further when Matthew was sentenced. There is just...” Robin shook her head. “No more love in me for him.” Strike nodded slowly and Rose fell onto his lap, so he put his hands on her tiny hips to keep her steady.

“Did you manage some sleep?”

“Yeah,” replied Robin. “Rosie just woke up and woke me up. It's alright, I didn't want to sleep the whole day, and I'm getting hungry.”

“Let's go get you some food then,” Strike proposed. “But before... I have a proposition.” Robin grind, sitting up.

“I'm listening...”

“I haven't been in Cornwall for the last few years, and I was thinking, London is going to be full of journos now that it's all over, harassing you, and Masham is going to be too excited, so... why don't you and Rosie come down to Cornwall with me? We could have one of those road-trips you like, we have money now to rent a car and Ted and Joan would love to meet you, and we can stay with them, so no spending money in hotels,” offered Strike, so shy all of the sudden that he couldn't look at Robin, who was surprised, but in a nice way. “I thought it'd be good for you girls. Be in the nature of a small fishing town, do some kayak, see a decent beach, go around Cornish fields full of Cornish cows eating nothing but Cornish grass... I could even take you to Tintagel's Castle, if you fancy King Arthur, or Land's End. We could go sailing... anything you wanted.”

“That sounds really cool,” Robin nodded. “Let's just postpone it until my family goes back up, is that okay?”

“Sure,” Strike smiled at her. “Come on, let's go eat.”

While Robin and Rosie enjoyed tea-time with the others, Strike prepared Robin some lunch left-overs and when he went to give it to her, found Rosie happily playing with the twins. Mackenzie was trying to stand up on her own and failing, and Ilsa was sitting by to make sure she didn't hurt herself.

“Robin mentioned a trip to Cornwall?” Lucy commented looking up at Strike, who nodded, sitting between his sister and Robin. “That'd be nice. Ted and Joan have been wanting to meet you.” Lucy added, smiling kindly at Robin.

“The feeling is mutual,” replied Robin. “Plus, Rosie could use some beach time. Beaches in Doha were just so luxurious, they didn't look kindly at babies making messes on the sand.”

“Snobs,” grumbled Michael from his spot on the floor playing with the babies.

“Oh, I forgot to mention it, sister, with all this mess. You're getting a nephew!” announced Stephen beaming at Robin, who looked at him stunned.

“For real?” Robin grinned, gulping her sandwich. “Stephen, that's wonderful! God I'm so happy for you!” Robin hugged her eldest brother, who had married to a sweet pharmacist named Daisy months after Robin's wedding. Robin hadn't been able to go, obviously.

“Yeah, we're very excited, he'll probably arrive in September,” Stephen grinned happily. “And I was hoping you'd be his godmother.” Robin felt all honoured and emotional for a second.

“I will love to! Do you have any names yet?”

“We're pretty set on Riley Michael,” said Stephen. “Daisy likes unconventional names and that one gives me a countryside vibe I like.”

“It's a beautiful name. Give Daisy my love when you go back up, will you?” petitioned Robin. Daisy had had to stay in the north for work, now that she could still work. Stephen nodded enthusiastically.

“Talking about baptism, can't imagine Rosie is baptised, right?” asked Linda. “We could arrange a baptism in St. Mary's if you want, love.” She commented kindly.

Robin looked thoughtful as she finished the last bits of her sandwich. Initially, she had always thought of baptising Rose; she was somewhat religious and wanted her child to be. But after all that had happened... she wasn't so sure anymore.

“I don't know, mum,” said Robin finally. “To be honest, right now I'm not feeling best pals with God precisely. Can't wait to put her on her first pony though.”

“Come to Masham with us then, after Rosie's birthday,” suggested Martin, Robin's eldest younger brother.

“I will love to, but only once I've got things better handled,” replied Robin. “I want to finish the divorce paperwork, change mine and Rosie's names because none of us will be a Cunliffe a second more than strictly necessary, and celebrate Rosie's birthday in peace. Besides, you said Masham is practically divided between the ones who think I slaughtered my husband and the ones who don't, and I don't want to get in there until everyone is more calmed down. I don't need pity.”

“Would you be mad if I told you there have been bets...?” insinuated Martin. Robin shut him up with a piercing look. “If it serves of any consolation, you were winning last I checked...” he murmured under his breath.

“We'll just head to Cornwall and come back when everything is more settled down,” added Robin.

“I thought you'd be dying to come home,” said Jon, disconcerted.

“I am, but I'm also busy trying to build a home here for Rosie. This is where I work, is where my life is and is the best I can offer her right now, and all we have is a micro attic, it needs to feel homey for her and she needs stability. As much as I'd love to see around, the best for her is to settle somewhere for a while, forget Doha and then, perhaps, it'll be a good time to travel around with her, but babies hate constant changes and I don't want to screw her up any further,” Robin explained patiently. “Besides, Masham may be our hometown, but it's also the place where this nightmare started and I made the hugest mistake of my lifetime. It'll take time.”

“So it's settled then?” asked Stephen. “You're staying here with Rosie? Don't you want her to have a farm life, with the horses and all?” he asked, trying hard not to sound accusatory. “You know, with all the things you loved.”

“I can't afford the childhood I had for her,” Robin shrugged, relaxing in her seat and looking at Rosie. “I wouldn't be able to get a quarter of the cases we get here in Masham, not even in Ripon or York. London is the only place big enough to bring money enough to a job like mine, and Rosie will be able to go to good schools and play with Jordan and Kenzie all the time, they're the same age. We can always go north with the horses on holidays. Plus, it's very likely that Rosie will have to see a psychologist for years now, and Masham doesn't have many choices for that.”

“She doesn't look so screwed up,” Lucy commented, looking at Rosie. “Seems normal.”

“She's fidgety and she still wakes up a lot during the night for someone that's about to be a year old. And look at her, the twins try to talk and stand up, but Rosie doesn't even seem interested. And she used to, a month or two ago, she's just gone backwards,” Robin sighed. “I've read enough psychology journals to know she's too anxious for a baby.”

“Doesn't help London's so loud,” commented Strike.

As if on cue, a dumpster truck accidentally dropped the skip it was holding up, and it fell to the ground right outside the room's window, originating a lot of noise, followed by the cleaners' shouting of orders. The twins got startled and looked to their parents with wide eyes, and Rosie immediately started crying with such an intensity one would feel she'd rip her vocal cords. Her little fists suspended in the air and her face went red as her eyes shut close with tears falling through her cheeks very quickly, and her mouth opened in tragic lament.

Robin was up on her feet in a second and in one long step she had reached Rose and hugged her close to her chest, putting a hand on her ears to protect her from more noises and kissing the top of her head.

“Oh, poor thing,” Ilsa lamented. Her twins looked stupefied at their friend, but didn't join her in her cries.

“I'm going to talk to them, see if they can resolve this with less noise,” said Nick, leaving the room.

“Is she so sensitive all the time?” asked Michael, worried. Robin was walking around the room whispering nothings to calm her child and bouncing her lightly.

“Only to loud noises and suspiciously-looking people,” replied Strike. “We have to shut all windows close with blinds and all when there's an important match, or she'll do this tenth times in a minute.”

“She's just scared, that's all,” said Robin, having managed for Rose to sob more quietly against her shoulder, still hugging her tight. “There was yelling far too often in our Doha flat with Matthew there. He would shout at her and everything, she learnt to be scared of any loud noises.”

“What was that German lullaby of yours that always does the trick when she gets this hysterical?” asked Robin. She often sang to Rosie and it helped, but there was one lullaby that Robin had only heard the melody of, which lyrics Strike knew, and that one, or perhaps Strike's deep voice, always had the fastest effect. It was like drugging her.

“Oh, ah...” Strike went to them to grab Rosie and Robin handed her to him. She understood his hairy size had an effect to Rose as hugging a giant teddy bear, the same way he calmed Robin. He was just warm, soft and so big, it immediately made you feel safe. Strike started singing very low and Robin couldn't help the smile that crept into her face as Rose immediately started getting sleeping. “ _Guten Abend, gut' Nacht, Mit Rosen bedacht, Mit Näglein besteckt, Schlüpf unter die Deck', Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, Wirst du wieder geweckt, Morgen früh, wenn Gott will, Wirst du wieder geweckt..._ _”_ sang Strike softly. He wasn't even finished before Rose was knocked out, asleep in his arms, with her tiny lips parted open and drooling on his shirt. “Jesus, why buy sleeping pills when there's Brahm to know a kid out?”

“Oh that's what Uncle Ted always sang us!” recalled Lucy. “We had this machine there that played the music while illuminating stars on the ceiling, it was very nice.” She commented with a grin.

“Works like magic,” Robin looked satisfied. “Do you think she'll wake up if I put her on the bed?”

“It's fine, I'll just hold her,” Strike shrugged. “It's not like she's a heavy weight.”

“Okay, thanks,” Robin looked grateful at him, caressing Rose's back. She was so knocked out it reminded Robin of when she had just been a newborn asleep in her arms.

“Cutest thing in the world, do you mind if I...?” Michael had positioned to take pictures with his phone and Strike gave a permissive nod, allowing proud Grandpa harassment.

“When did you become good with babies?” asked Nick, surprised, as he came back from speaking with the cleaners outside.

“Oh, he's always been awesome with Rosie, she adores him!” claimed Robin, looking adoringly at her baby and Strike, who blushed.

“The Ellacotts have a knack for liking me for absolutely no reason,” murmured Strike to Nick, who simply laughed.

 


	15. Rose's birthday

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Rosie, happy birthday to you!” Strike and Robin sang at unison, waking Rosie up on the Saturday morning of her birthday. Rosie let a big yawn out and smiled at them, kicking her legs in the air.

“Do you think she's got any idea of what's going on?” asked Robin lying next to her, smiling down at her offspring. Her eyes travelled to Strike, who had this face of someone wrapped around Rose's finger, looking at her with adoration.

“I think she's just happy we love her,” Robin grinned at his admission of loving her, even if it was something very obvious.

Strike tried not to look too in love at Robin while she showered her daughter with kisses and chose for her a tiny blue chambray dress with red shoes.

“Rosie, how do we blow the candles?” said Strike looking at the baby playing on the rug, all dressed-up with a red bow on her short hair, while he buttoned up his shirt. Rosie looked at him. “We do fuuu,” Strike blew in the air. Rosie opened her mouth a lot and spat in the air and Strike giggled. “It's okay poppet, we'll help. You've got years to master it.”

“How do I look?” Robin had just gotten out of the bedroom and Strike's jaw dropped. It wasn't like Robin was super covered in make-up, wearing tons of cleavage or jewellery; she couldn't look more mummy-simple-style unless she was in pyjamas. But she wore soft make-up, just enough to accentuate her lips and eyes, her hair was wavy and bright, and she was wearing dark plane Chelsea boots with tight jeans, a dark blue chiffon blouse and a dark blazer. She stood shyly and Strike found her charming, sweet and pretty, and didn't know what to say. “I know it's not great,” Robin started anxiously. “I just didn't want to wear heels and tube skirts in the park, right? And I need free access to boobs because Rosie doesn't quite like...”

“Stop,” Strike smiled softly. “You look beautiful, Robin. Look at mummy, Rosie,” said Strike without looking at the baby. His eyes were fixed on Robin, not in a sexual way, but in the way one looks at an impressive masterpiece. “Tell her how pretty she is.” Robin blushed hard to her ears.

“You look very nice as well,” murmured Robin timidly. Strike was just wearing a dark grey suit with a blue shirt, seeing blue was the day's colour, and some of her oldest, but most comfortable, shoes.

“Thanks uh,” Strike moved to grab the baby bag. “We should probably go, we have to put the decorations and everything...”

“Yeah, wait,” Robin rushed to him and Strike's stomach jumped to his throat when he saw Robin's hands reach to his shirt. She smiled apologetically. “You've done it wrong, let me fix it...” Strike nodded, his throat too dry to muster a word, and saw how he had skipped one button, and buttoned the next with a hole that wasn't correspondent, and thus leaving a park of dark chest mane visible.

He blushed and pretended not to get chills when Robin's fingers brushed with his skin as she undid the mess, opening and closing his shirt, this time in the proper manner, pretending not to stare at his strong, hairy, masculine torso.

Lately, Robin preferred sitting in the back-seat with Rosie rather than driving, so they had rented a car that Strike could drive, and he was happy to do again things he hadn't done in the last five years of his life and that he missed. He drove them to the Diana playground memorial and saw Nick and Ilsa and their triplets had already found a good garden spot under a thick tree and were putting the first decorations.

Robin and Strike got the rest of decorations from their car and joined them in hanging colourful balloons here and there, extending a few picnic blankets so the toddlers and babies would hang in there, covering it with toys, and then Nick and Ilsa had brought a foldable picnic table that they extended, along with some foldable chairs, and Strike and Robin had bought foldable chairs for everyone else that they brought from the cars and settled right by the 'children zone'.

“Hi guys!” Lucy and Greg hurried to them across the grass, with the children trotting behind, Peter, who was twelve, Jack, who had turned ten two days previously, and Simon, who would be seven later in the year. They had actually decided the party would be joint Jack and Rosie's. Robin didn't mind her first birthday wouldn't be only hers.

“We've brought food to feed and army,” Greg smiled satisfied as the kids finished greeting everyone and ran to the giant boat nearby for children to play. “You three stay where I can see you!” he shouted after them. “Pete, look after your brothers!”

“We have two enormous cakes, I think the biggest I've ever done,” said Lucy with a satisfied smile. “Drinks, and tons of food, but I told Jack's friends' parents to bring more and also seats or blankets to sit about.”

“Sounds perfect, thank you very much, Lucy,” Robin was very grateful to her friend.

In the end, they were joined by Robin's family, even Daisy had managed to come for the weekend, Jack's four closest friends with their parents, and a couple friends of Nick and Ilsa whose children were also Rosie's age, so in the end there were seven babies playing on the grass, and since almost everyone were parents or parents-to-be, conversation drifted naturally to children stuff as they grew new friendships and devoured copious amounts of food and drinks. They sang happy birthday to Jack and Rose, and he helped her blow the candles along with Robin's help, and Rosie had bitten the cake before anyone could help it, and Strike had to sit with Rosie and spend five minutes to ensure all the cake was off her eyelashes.

“Uncle Corm!” Jack said as he, Strike and Rosie hung out in the big boat. Strike carried Rosie as she looked amazed at everything. “Are you and Robin dating?” Strike looked at his teenager nephew. Perhaps he was old enough.

“No,” replied Strike. “But she's one of my best friends and she's suffering a very difficult divorce from a very bad person, so I'm living with her to ensure she and Rosie are okay. Sometimes you have to do all you can for someone and sometimes that involves sharing a life together without romantic or sexual involvement.” He explained. Jack nodded.

“So I guess Rosie's like... my little cousin?”

“Could be,” Strike shrugged, seeing Rose really wanted to try to stand on one of the highest parts of the boat, he helped her sit there.

“Isn't it weird?”

“Dunno,” Strike shrugged again. “You're too young to understand, Jack, but one day you'll realise some friendships become the family you choose. We're all one giant family here, because we were there for each other through incredibly tough, worst times of our lives. It's like how your mum is just my step-sister, but we never call each other step anything, but fully siblings, because that's how we feel it. And when your mum and I were little, we always called Ilsa's parents uncle and aunt and vice-versa. As Rosie grows up, in her heart, you will probably be a cousin, and all of us adults will become uncles and aunts she's just used to seeing as family.”

Jack looked at Rosie, who was giggling trying to stand on the ceiling of the boat's cabin.

“She'd be a nice cousin, Rosie. And Robin is pretty awesome. Perhaps you should date her.”

Strike returned with Rosie on his shoulders to the adults and realised he actually knew them from previous birthdays of Jack. Robin was laughing and she seemed genuinely happy, as if she had hit it off with the other parents really well, and Strike didn't have to be jealous because everyone was married. 'That's right' he said in his mind, 'you're tied forever and unable to steal her from me'. Strike chastised himself briefly for his thoughts.

“There's my favourite girl!” Robin grinned seeing them arrive, and her nose crinkled and Rosie, on Strike's shoulders, squealed and agitated her limbs, and then her hands went back to gripping Strike's curls with excessive force. “She loves that boat, doesn't she?”

“Sea girl, you got,” said Strike putting Rosie down on Robin's arms. “And daring. She wanted to climb the mast, sounds like somebody I know.” Robin grinned and kissed Rosie.

“Never before have I seen a fatherly version of Cormoran, you must've invented it, Robin,” teased Greg with a side smile.

“He truly is wonderful to us,” admitted Robin, hugging her nugget and kissing the top of her head. “Don't you love Uncle Corm so much, uh? He's the best nap buddy, isn't he?” she chuckled at Rosie's squeals and giggles. She was trying to fetch soap bubbles a kid was blowing in the air. Strike pretended not to hear and excused himself to smoke a fag, walking away to the Broadwalk Café.

He didn't particularly enjoy Lucy's parent friends, and the longer he was around Robin the longer he wished to kiss her and accept becoming Rosie's new daddy so she never again had to think she had another daddy that was a criminal in prison. And that couldn't happen, at least, not yet. Robin was still recovering, still mourning, still figuring things out, and Rosie and he could settle with just being nap buddies for now. However he hadn't walked too far when he heard Rose cry and when he turned around, he saw Rosie was looking at him, with her tiny arms extended towards him, and her eyes filled with tears. Had she, for some reason, thought he had abandoned her? Strike had smashed his fag on the grass and reached Rosie in a moment.

“Oh, she's never letting you smoke again,” Robin joked as Strike sat on his chair next to her with Rose in his arms.

“That's okay, it'll be great for my economy,” said Strike, his hands so big Rosie almost fully disappeared beneath them. She had immediately stopped crying, but the scare had gotten her to let long breaths out as she still worked on calming down, and her cheeks were full of very real tears, her skin all red. “I'm sorry, Rosie.” Strike apologised kissing the top of her head. Robin occupied herself caressing the space of Rosie's back between Strike's hands, and the baby was soon relaxed and just enjoying her position.

“Girl knows what she wants and goes for it,” Ilsa chuckled, looking at Robin, who giggled.

At the end of the birthday, they put all back in the cars, including a big amount of presents, and Strike proposed Robin to leave things home and stroll around during the rest of the evening, as they barely left the house. Robin agreed and they went home, left everything, returned the car and then the three of them went on, strolling about around the Jubilee Gardens by the London Eye, doing small talk while Robin pushed Rose's stroller, where the baby was already deep asleep, tucked with a blanket.

Eventually, they sat on a bench by the Thames, simply enjoying their company in silence. Robin leaned forward to wipe drool off Rose's pouty lips and Strike's eyes trailed to her back, seeing a few lines of scars peeking at the back of her neck. Robin leaned back again and let out a relaxed breath. The sun was starting to go to sleep and the light was orange and beautiful.

“This is nice, isn't it?” commented Robin. Her voice was soft and calm, and she seemed at ease. “It was a good birthday. We took a bunch of pictures.”

“Yeah,” Strike agreed, nodding. “A good day to remember.”

“My family will go back tomorrow,” said Robin. “I was thinking perhaps we could go to St. Mawes then, once they're gone.” Strike nodded in agreement. “Did you talk with your family already?”

“Yeah, they're always happy to receive us. They love babies, Rosie's got them all excited.”

Robin's lips curved forming a tiny smile.

“So how's your family like? Any cousins?” Robin inquired with avid curiosity.

“Two, twins Maggie and Mer. They're four years younger than me, and a total accident. Ted and Joan were already caring for Lucy and I and had made a decision not to have their own children so they could focus on us hundred percent. However, Joan got pregnant,” Strike commented humorously, making her giggle. “We're very close, the four of us.”

“How are they like?”

For solid half an hour, Robin gave free rein to her curiosity, and interrogated him, taking advantage of one of those rare moments in which he would accept talking about his personal life. That way, she found out that Maggie was an animal lover, a tall veterinarian with short dark curly hair and warm brown eyes, skinny and engaged to local photographer Thomas Daily, to whom she'd marry the following year. Maggie was the most formal of them, and a walking brain, while Meredith was the wildest of the four of them, and got into trouble very often as a kid, with her Libra personality of not tolerating anything she would consider remotely unfair. Meredith was shorter and less skinny, but had the same hair colour and eyes as her sister and a similar round face and worked as a Primary School Teacher in St. Mawes. She was a lesbian and for many years had been living with her civil partner, Nicole Piers, who was a brunette cop in St. Mawes. They were doomed to marry when gay marriage was legal, but for now, a couple years previously they had adopted a newborn from Africa called Oliver Theodore Burke-Piers, whom Strike had only met on a couple occasions. Strike even told her about Ted and Joan, a charming couple in their early sixties, Ted plump, enormous, and basically Strike with a few more years and glasses, an ex SIB that now grew trees and fished and sailed, and Joan, a less plump, smaller brunette with big blue eyes, great chef and very involved in St. Mawes' politics.

Robin listened amused, loving the way his eyes shined talking about those he loved, and how his voice became honeyed when talking about his aunt's cooking,

“Sorry?” Strike had asked something, but she was so fixated in the way the sunlight made his eyes look like deep dark chocolate ice-cream, that she hadn't heard him. Strike smiled sweetly.

“I asked how was Rosie when she was born,” repeated Strike.

“Oh,” Robin nodded. “Oh, she was... she was perfect. I got to keep a digital camera then, so I have millions of photographs at home. I actually have one in my wallet, one moment...” Robin sank a hand in her small purse and pulled her wallet and then a tiny photograph from there. “I asked a nurse to take it one time Matthew wasn't around.” She said, passing it to Strike.

He unfolded the photograph and smiled at the sight. It showed Robin sitting up in a hospital bed, kissing the cheek of a very little, reddish baby wrapped in blankets and held up for the camera in front of Robin. Back then, Robin's hair was still long, strawberry-blonde and dishevelled.

“My lucky star,” murmured Robin, smiling at the picture with dreamy eyes. Strike nodded, passing a finger the girls. Strike nodded.

Suddenly Strike found himself overwhelmed with deep sadness, so sudden that he didn't realise he was crying until he automatically sniffled and a tear rolled down into his beard. Robin frowned.

“Hey, what's wrong?” she asked worried, putting a hand on his shoulder. Strike took a deep breath and shook his head, angrily clenching his teeth. “Cormoran...”

“This should've never happened,” Strike angrily blurted out, looking at her with teary eyes. “I was right there. I saw who he was, I had more than enough experience to identify an abuser, and yet I never warned you. I never tried to stop that wedding, when I had all the signs,” said Strike hoarsely. “Right then when I heard him degrade you saying he didn't have a choice with you, I should've broken his nose and convinced you to cancel the wedding and leave him forever.” Robin smiled sadly, caressing his cheek to calm him.

“None of this is your fault. It couldn't be.”

“But Robin!” Strike let a shaky breath out. “I've been an investigator since you were ten years old! I've always done this, and I've seen men like that my entire life dating my mum, beating her up, killing her...” Robin frowned, putting her hand around his shoulders and rubbing his back soothingly. “I even went to date a bitch. I mean, I'm practically an expert on dangerous relationships, and I disliked Matthew before I even met him, just when you talked of him I had this idea in my mind that he was a royal jerk who didn't deserve you; who could never deserve you. And as your friend and your employee, it was my responsibility to warn you, to try and keep you safe. You were too in love and too kind to see... but I have no excuse. I repeatedly chose to shut up, for no reason, time and time again. And then he took you, and he did such horrible things to you...” Strike sniffled again. “And he could've hurt Rosie as well, if you weren't such a brave, strong and tough woman. I don't understand why I caught cheaters in days, serial killers in a matter of weeks... and it took me almost two years to find you. You trusted me, and I should've been faster. If only I hadn't been so useless... such a disappointment... I would've found you right here in London, and I would've made sure you got all the right attention the entire pregnancy, and Linda would've been there with you when Rosie was born, and I would've made sure you had everything in the world. I would've taken care of Rosie as if she was my very own daughter, and I would've kept Matthew where he belongs, and none of you would've ever suffered so much. I would've taken care of everything for you, and you would've been able to raise Rose, from second one, in a loving home, resolving crimes and buying her everything you wanted. I'm sorry, Robin. I'm sorry to you both. I wasn't good enough, I wasn't up to scratch, and the prize was too high. I failed you two, and I'll never do again.”

Robin felt her eyes fill with tears as well, and she wrapped Strike in his arms. They hugged and hugged for a long time, until they were both calmed down, and then they separated and Robin smiled at him.

“None of this could ever be your fault,” Robin reaffirmed, squeezing his hands. “You and I both know you couldn't have separated us, just like no one could separate your mum from those jerks or you from Charlotte. And you were up to scratch. You worked your butt off, like I expected you to do, to make things right, even if you had to work alone and lose everything you had. And eventually, you brought us home, like I knew you would. Of course you were up to scratch. I expected nothing less of you.”

Strike moved a lock of hair away from Robin's face and contemplated her with sad eyes. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but was afraid it wouldn't be well-received, so he settled for kissing her cheek.

“I will never let anyone hurt you again,” promised Strike wrapping an arm around her. Robin smiled content and rested against his chest as they looked at the sunset.

  
  


 


	16. Like oxygen

“Singing, I love rock and roll! So put another dime in the jukebox, baby! I love rock and roll, so come and take your time and dance with me!”

Strike and Robin sang in unison with all their might as Strike drove their rented car down south to Cornwall. They had been in the car for hours, visited Stonehenge and Exeter, and now they were finally entering St. Mawes.

“Ladies,” said Strike with a satisfied grin as the afternoon light shun on them. “Welcome to St. Mawes, Cornwall. Population, about seven hundred and three.”

Robin grinned looking through the window at the tiny beautiful houses.

“Look, Rosie,” Robin encouraged. “Your first holiday.”

They were welcomed at Ted and Joan's house, a phenomenal, big house at one of the highest areas of London, which provided incredible views. The flaw of the house was that it wasn't perfectly comfortable for Strike, since there were four steps to the entry from a big, front patio where the cars were parked and where Ted had a boathouse, and then passed those steps you were in a spacious terrace with views to the ocean and the rest of St. Mawes, before entering the brown-and-white house into a large living room. There was a kitchen, a bathroom and a small office as well, and a big dining room was in the living room.

The bedrooms where all upstairs, one for Ted and Joan, and then two other bedrooms and another bathroom, and in the last floor, a pretty attic, was another bedroom with its own bathroom, and was usually used when the house was overly full of people. Initially, Lucy and Strike had each had a bedroom in the first floor, before the twins were born, moment in which Strike was moved to the attic and the twins shared his own bedroom until they were about six years old. Then, Lucy had gone to Strike's bedroom in the attic, and they had shared the attic during their sporadic visits in their youth, since it made more sense that the twins, who lived there all year round, had their bedrooms the closest to their parents, as they were younger than Strike and Lucy and needed them more, and Strike and Lucy could have their very own bedroom and organisation upstairs, an entire floor for themselves. Then Lucy had officially moved in with them, so the attic had been, ever since, mostly hers. But then, in the army, Strike had lost his leg, and the attic was no longer a good option for his sporadic visits, reason why Ted had transformed the small office in the ground floor into an office-cum-bedroom, with a bed that folded against the wall and could come down any time it was needed, so Strike didn't have to go another flight of stairs up.

For Robin's comfort and privacy, it was decided she and Rosie used the attic bedroom, where Ted had installed one of the old cribs they had from the twins that had later been reused by Oliver. Since Lucy came often with Greg and the boys, Strike finished settling in his room and decided to climb up the stairs to the attic and check Lucy hadn't left something around that could bother Robin. When he arrived to her bedroom, he knocked on the white wall.

“Cormoran,” he announced himself.

“Come in,” Robin's voice came.

Strike opened the door and saw Rosie was already playing with her toys on the rug, and Robin was sitting on the side of the bed holding a framed photograph. What had become Lucy's room was a big indicative of her personality and differences with Strike; while Strike's attic in Denmark Street had no photographs or anything, Lucy's room was full of personal details. Her king size bed had a drawer underneath to reveal another bed for the boys to share, there was a gigantic bookshelf full of books, mostly classics and fantasy books like Harry Potter, of which Lucy had always been a big fan. The walls were a soft cream colour and still contained Lucy's diplomas; Primary School in St. Mawes, London's Comprehensive, up to her graduation in Exeter University's diploma. Strike knew Ted and Joan kept a framed picture of Lucy with them on her graduation day, the first Burke-Strike-Fantoni to ever finish University. Strike was there too, and had come so fast from the army that he was still in his uniform, but he knew Lucy would've murdered him if he had missed it, so there they stood, Lucy proudly wearing her tunic and having received special honours for her excellent grades. She had become an Aeronautical Engineer, and so her room held some photographs of her next to some of the planes she had helped create.

Of course, there were also plenty of other photos; friends since school, Ilsa's family, romantic photographs of Lucy and Greg, and all three of their babies, then Strike and of course Leda and Rick. In one photograph taken on Lucy's tenth birthday, they almost looked like a happy family; Rick, Leda, Strike and Lucy, all grinning to the camera. Leda had always insisted to get along with Rick so he could be as present as possible in Lucy's life. She would've done the same with Jonny, if he hadn't been such a brat. Rick, on the opposite side, had always worked her butt off to be Lucy's dad.

“I forgot to tell you Lucy's room is a sanctuary of her past,” Strike commented jokingly.

“This room is perfect,” said Robin with a sincere smile. Strike then noticed the photograph she was holding. It was Lucy's very first Christmas, in 1976, when Lucy was only months of age in Leda's arms sitting on an armchair, and Strike, two at the time, had sat on the arm of the armchair, with his mother's free arm around him keeping him safe, smiling together to the camera.

“So you found memory lane,” commented Strike.

“I hope it's okay,” said Robin with an apologetic look. “It was on the bedside table and I couldn't resist. Your mum was a really beautiful woman.” Strike flopped on the bed next to her.

“She was,” Strike recognised. “It's okay. I'm sure Lucy wouldn't mind, she knew you were coming and could've asked Ted and Joan to put her things away. She likes to remember the past, while I rather not think about it.”

Robin nodded slowly, putting the photograph back in its place so Leda and toddler Strike smiled at them.

“You have so much of her, did you know?” said Robin, looking at Leda. Strike couldn't help his expression of surprise.

“I would've thought we're nothing alike!”

“Really?” Robin looked at him. “No... you share the exact same eyes, even with the same kindness in them. And the dark hair, and you can tell she had wavy hair. Maybe not so curly but... those curls definitely come from the Burkes. I mean, look at your uncle, right?” Strike snorted a laugh.

“It's very sweet of you to say that.” Robin shrugged.

“I really feel like I partially know her just from knowing you. I know she was a really good person who bad things happened to,” said Robin with a hint of sadness. Strike nodded, looking at Rose playing on the ground. “I think she would've liked being a grandma as well.”

“Me too. But life goes on. Carpe diem, isn't it?”

“Yeah,” Robin sighed, and looked at her daughter as well. They sat there for a moment of silence before Robin spoke again. “Do you think your mother really loved Whittaker all her life?” Strike let a long breathe out.

“I think she was sure she did,” replied Strike. “She was very romantic, mum. She would've done anything for love. Anything at all. And she was also a dreamer and always saw the best of people, even when there was nothing to see, she was that kind, that helpful and selfless. Shanker thinks you two are the same in that aspect, did you know? I didn't see it first when he told me... but he was actually right.”

“And I almost ended-up the same,” Robin smiled bittersweetly. “We are such naïve women... be always loving, be always kind, be always forgiving... and you'll end-up being murdered. Sometimes I don't even know what to teach Rosie. I don't want anyone to ever play her like that.”

“Love is a drug, Robin... when you're so lucky to feel it, you never want to let it end. But sometimes you have to, or it'll kill you.”

“Did you?” asked Robin. Strike looked at her confused. “Did you let love end? When you were in love?” Strike had to take a deep breath and pursed his lips, thoughtful, granting himself a moment. He wasn't used to having such brutally honest deep conversations with Robin.

“I know it ended, but I'm not sure if it was ever me who let it end,” replied Strike after a moment. “I loved Charlotte with all my heart. I gave her everything I had, everything I knew to give... and was left feeling it wasn't enough. I wasn't enough. I was just her toy. But then... I fought so hard to keep it, but you came into my life, and you unintentionally forced me to focus, keep my feet on the ground, work. I guess love partially ended me... and I learnt to come from the ashes. I could because I was surrounded by good people. My mum... she had addiction issues. Love was the worst of them all and she could never stop it. She was doomed.”

“What about Elin?” asked Robin a moment of silence later. “I haven't heard you mention her since I came back.”

“I left her shortly after your wedding. I would've done it sooner, but I was too busy,” Strike shrugged. “I harboured no feelings for her, and I could tell she was developing them for me. I couldn't use her like that.”

“Oh...” Robin nodded and they sat in silence for a while. Strike could almost hear the wheels in Robin's brain. “I think Rose made me stop loving Matthew and start hating him. Not so much his abuse, but Rosie's arrival. Does that make any sense?”

Strike looked down at her and nodded. She looked like a lost puppy.

“Mum always loved all three of her children with all her heart. And to her, if it was them or their shitty parents, they would always be her first choice.” Commented Strike. “I think no man can ever aspire to be loved by a girlfriend in the way a good mum loves her offspring.”

“It's just...” Robin bit her lips, looking for a way to put her thoughts into words. “I remember being so overwhelmed when Rose was born, and still sometimes... it's like I'm going to just combust, because I love her so much. And it's one love I've never felt for anyone. It's something I can't describe, something I never thought one could feel. God, I know know how my mum can live feeling that multiplied by four,” she snorted a laugh. “But when I held Rosie in my arms and saw the way Matthew neglected her... he stopped being my husband or my love. He became the son of a bitch who was rejecting my greatest, most adored thing... and I knew Rosie deserved a better father. I knew Matthew didn't have what it takes. Somehow, through wanting the best for her, and automatically despising anyone who would do as much as looking wrong at her... the love I felt for Matthew left, and there isn't even hate left. Just... I totally don't care about his life any more. I only care he won't come back. But it amazes me, the way Rosie opened my eyes and saved me...” her voice was small, a bare whisper. “How someone so tiny can do so much. She was the tiniest baby I've ever held, and yet... She held my finger and never let me go. She told me what I deserved, what we deserved and needed, and who wasn't good enough for us, and make me see things for what they were. And she kept me sane.”

“Rosie does have that quality, of making you feel like you're in the top of the world and nothing else matters,” murmured Strike, blushing. Robin looked at him, surprised, but softened.

“Do you love her?” Robin asked. Strike blushed harder. “Cormoran?”

“Yes,” Strike nodded. “Yes, of course I love her. Isn't it obvious, Robin?” He suddenly felt so brave. “For twenty months, you were all I could ever think of, only you.” He looked at her, who looked surprised. “I lived to find you and care for you. And I knew it didn't matter what baggage you came with... I would love every part of it, and I would do anything to make you happy. I didn't expect Rosie to tag along but... how could I not love someone who looks at me exactly the way you do? Someone who's so much of you... someone you love so much. Someone who treats me like I'm her best friend, without even knowing me. Someone who doesn't see a dangerous, big man, but a big, soft bear to take naps with. Your daughter is amazing... and so are you. And I love you both more than anything else in my life. I honestly don't know how I've survived twenty months without you, but I know if anything happens to any of you... I won't survive it. I need you in my life... the same way I need oxygen.”

Their eyes fixed on each other's and like magnets, their faces approached. Robin cupped his cheek, her thumb brushing his lips, and he kissed it. And when their eyes were closing and they were giving in to gravity, a knock on the door separated them abruptly.

 


	17. Cornish magic

“Robin, Corm, come down, the sardines are ready and they're disgusting cold!” announced Ted. “Everyone's here!”

“Just a minute!” Strike announced. He heard Ted's heavy steps going down the stairs and, blushing, looked at Robin, who was also blushed and rushing to grab her daughter. “Robin, I...”

“It's okay,” Robin smiled at him. “Let's go have dinner.”

They all went to the terrace following the smell of sardines and anchovies Ted himself had fished that morning, and Robin and Rosie were introduced to Maggie and fiancé Thomas 'Tom', and Meredith and parter Nicole, with their son Oliver. Enthusiastic hugs were exchanged, and the babies seemed to like one another, so they played together as soon as they had both eaten a reasonable amount of fish prepared by their mothers and Strike, who helped removing fish bones.

“We've heard so much about you, Robin,” commented Maggie smiling at her as they sat together in the dark, illuminated by a few lights of the terrace, the street, and the moon. “All good things!”

“Yeah, we were dying to meet you,” added Meredith cheerfully.

“Thanks, I couldn't wait to visit, Cormoran speaks so wonderfully of Cornwall that it makes me envious,” Robin smirked and looked at Strike. “Why is your family so cheerful and you're such a menhir?” they laughed and Strike shrugged, looking very seriously at her.

“Is the diet,” replied Strike jokingly, making her laugh.

After dessert, Strike's cousins went with their families back to their homes, and Ted and Joan went to watch TV. Robin and Rosie were tired, so they went to bed, and Strike, deciding he was free to do as he wanted, sat on the terrace smoking and looking at the ocean. He loved to smell the salt and hear the waves. As the smoke faded in the air, he sighed, looking up to the house. He had practically confessed all of his feelings to Robin, and he felt he had fucked-up. Not only because there was a high chance she didn't feel the same, but also because even if she did, how was Strike, with one foot on his forties, unfit, with begins of grey hair, smoker, without money and without half a leg, ever going to be good enough to date Robin? To be Rosie's new dad? And even if all stars aligned and Robin didn't care about all those things and she just loved him as much as he loved her, he could understand she probably had plenty of insecurities, like what if they didn't work out and she had to live with her ex? And work with him? And lose her best friend? And what if that affected Rosie for worse? And how was she going to trust another man after all she had gone through? Feeling an incoming headache, Strike just went to bed.

The next day, Strike asked Ted for permission to take Robin and Rosie sailing in Ted's small yacht, that Strike had learned to control through all his life. Robin had never gone sailing and was super excited, so the three went off to the pier, Strike stopping to tell Robin anecdotes about this and that, Robin making questions and pointing and complimenting here and there, marvelling with Rosie of the city. As they stood by the boat and Strike pulled from the ropes to bring it closer to the dock, Rosie looked at the yacht with insecure wide eyes and Robin smiled at her, trying to ignore the way Strike's arms looked so strong as he pulled the boat closer, and kissed the top of her head, hugging her close so she'd feel she was calm and there was nothing to worry about.

“Ladies first,” said Strike gentlemanly offering Robin a hand and helping them inside the boat through the back of it, that formed a bench before entering the cabin. Robin followed him inside the cabin. They hadn't spoken a word about the night before.

Robin sat with Rosie on her lap and watched as Strike prepared the boat and it started moving slowly through the pier and into the open sea, communicating with the pier security through a walkie-talkie so everything was prepared for them to leave.

They sailed in silence for a while, and Robin brought Rosie outside to feel the breeze of the ocean and smell the ocean, pointing at the horizon and showing it to Rosie, who was still flipping. Strike smirked, slowing the speed and turning to take a photograph of them as the sun hit them. Robin was wearing sandals and a sundress and Rosie overalls and was barefoot, since it was a hot day and Rosie didn't walk anyway.

“Is it safe to bathe?” asked Robin insecure as Strike stopped the boat in a safe area and pulled the mini-fridge, offering Robin a glass of wine and grabbing a beer for himself. Strike looked at the ocean.

“Well...” Strike shrugged. “We have white sharks, deathly jellyfishes, piranhas...” Robin looked at him with sudden panic and Strike smiled. “Sorry, I'm completely joking, I'm an arse.” Robin sighed and smiled, shoving him off lightly.

“Now seriously?”

“Seriously we have whales, dolphins, seals, salmons... there is some great white shark, that's true, tuna, dogfish, basking sharks, blue sharks, eels...” Strike looked thoughtful for a moment, trying to remember everything he had learned in thirty-nine years. “Porbeagles, whitefish, sunfish, rays, hammerheads... but all of this said, this area hasn't reported a shark attack in Ted's whole life. So it's probably safe, but still... don't do it. A shark could confuse you for a seal, that are common around, and bite.”

“Right,” Robin put a circumstantial expression, looking around. “So we're safe. You know what you're doing.”

“I wouldn't be drinking a Doom Bar otherwise,” Strike shrugged. “Robin, I took you here to relax, I assure you you're safe. Ted's been bringing me to sail since I was a newborn, I've done this at least a trillion times, and many completely on my own.” Robin took a deep breath and nodded, putting Rosie to crawl on the floor and drinking from her wine as they sat inside the cabin but leaving the door and windows opened so the air came in.

They sat and did small talk for a while, when suddenly Robin gasped, pointing at the ocean.

“What?” Strike looked. “Dolphins? I was hoping we could catch them...”

“A shark!” Robin shouted. Strike's eyes widened and grabbed the binoculars to see the hell Robin thought was a shark. “Oh my God Cormoran, is as big as the boat, look, right there!”

Strike realised he didn't see because he wasn't looking in the right direction. Removing the binoculars, he saw what she saw. Moving slowly, there was indeed a dark, large spot by the boat. Strike sat quietly seeing if it really moved, and then distinguished a fin. He smiled.

“Don't you worry Robin, is a basking shark! They're absolutely inoffensive, you could even put the hand and touch them. But congrats! I've hardly seen them, aren't they impressive?”

“Are you sure they're alright?” Robin looked insecure. Strike was scrutinising it with the binoculars, seeing it moved forward far from them.

“I'm completely sure, look,” Strike passed Robin the binoculars so she could see herself.

“The fin is characteristic, but also the size, see how huge it is? They're actually super protected species in the UK. Look, now it's close enough to see the mouth, it's enormous, but they have zero interest in meat.” He pointed to the waters, and Robin felt her stomach go up in adrenaline as she saw it, her jaw opening.

“Oh my God! Look at that!” Robin was first terrified, but then she started laughing at her own adrenaline. “Woah! It's beautiful! It's unbelievable! It won't collide with us and make the boat turn over?”

“No,” Strike assured, smiling. “Well, we have to stay without moving the boat though, we could accidentally harm him and then they'd imprison us. I should take you to see seal pups later today. Cutest things... also protected.”

“Woah... see that, Rosie? Isn't nature splendid?” Robin grinned at her baby, who was busy eating her fluffy penguin.

“Biggest stuff is in deep waters, like many whales... won't see them in the surface. Let's see if we can catch some dolphins...”

Strike sailed the boat towards Falmouth, getting a bit more in open waters, and they finally spotted a bunch of dolphins in the far distance. Strike stopped the boat and the three sat, looking at then for full ten minutes, impressed. Robin took photos, and Rosie observed with evident astonishment.

“Wanna do some tourism in Falmouth?” Strike suggested once the dolphins were gone.

“I'd love to,” said Robin looking at him with a happiness he had been nostalgic for in her.

Falmouth was much bigger than St. Mawes, and it took a while to receive permission to leave the boat at their dock. Then, they went outside the dock and Strike walked the girls around the city, visited Pendennis Castle, and then went off to sit in Little Dennis, finding a firm rock where to eat their sandwiches.

“I can't believe you got to grow-up around all this beauty,” murmured Robin, marvelled, as she looked at the horizon, Rosie asleep in her arms after having breastfeed. Strike looked at them and shrugged.

“I didn't, not so much. Lucy and I spent more time out of here than in here, she was lucky to spend the rest of her youth here, but I stayed in London.”

“Why London? Why not just come back here?” asked Robin. “This is way prettier...”

“Because,” Strike sighed. “Job and... I know St. Mawes seems a paradise, and it is, but it's not if you spend here your whole year, when you're someone like me. After the novelty has worn off and after a couple weeks of enjoying the bliss, I actually get bored. It's always refreshing to come with someone new and amuse myself with your astonishment.” Robin chuckled.

“So where did you grow up?”

“Ah, here and there. Mum took us all around England,” said Strike. “I remember we used to acquire different accents every time. London and St. Mawes were our most steady homes though. The rest, squats, shitholes and other stuff. Mum was... a bohemian, self-reliant and looking for adventure and thrills. She loved all that was new.”

“Sounds familiar,” Robin smirked. “We had it so very different.” Strike nodded, elbowing her playfully. “In some ways, it's perfect though. The sea and the country, the old and the new, the action and the calmness, the sun and the moon... we make a good team. Together we have the full package.”

“You said something quite pretty so I will choose to ignore the fact that you just called me old,” said Strike with a mock smirk, making Robin laugh. “I guess I'm the sun, right?”

“What'd'ya think?” Robin pointed at her hair, giggling, and Strike looked fondly at him.

“How many equestrian competitions have you won?” asked Strike. Robin blew air, thoughtfully, as she absent-mindedly brought her arms tighter around Rosie.

“At least... twenty... There were a few every year.” Robin shrugged apologetically, and Strike looked at her impressed, whistling.

Eventually they decided to head back, as Rose was obviously tired and Strike had promised the family to be back for lunch at the beach. The trio returned to the beach and Robin got comfortable on a comfortable soft bench inside the cabin to have Rose sleep against her chest. Strike drove the boat calmly as they looked at the horizon, and decided to go more south, past Pendennis, and go making an 'u' back to St. Mawes, so Robin could see more and enjoy a full sailing experience in open sea waters. And it was great. Strike was turning back towards the coast when he suddenly went pale. There, right in front of them, he spotted an orca, also called killer whale, for a reason.

“What? More dolphins? A whale?” Robin asked excitedly, looking through the windows.

“Sort of,” replied Strike with a quiet voice. “Robin, I don't want you to be scared or alarmed, alright? But I see a killer whale right in front of us.”

Robin stood up to see what he was seeing, hoping that he had confused a really big dolphin or some other whale. Did whales even have fins? She supposed they did. But there was no doubt. The orca was so close and so big, they could spot the white patches perfectly well through the water surface.

“That can flip the yacht, it's a tiny one,” murmured Robin. “Please tell me you know what to do.”

“Yes, don't you worry. Let's just keep calm, they rarely attack humans and when they do, it's probably just confusion.”

“I don't want it to confuse us with a whale.”

Strike took note of their exact position of coordinates, photographed the orca, and used the walkie-talkie radio to talk with the coastguards.

“I've got an orca right in front of my boat, I see it perfectly fine, see its face through the water. There's no doubt it's an orca,” said Strike after identifying and indicating their position. “I'm going to get back to St. Mawes as far as possible guys, but I figured I should warn. There are fishermen around.”

Strike was already hurrying to move away before the orca decided to jump hard enough to flip them over and Robin let a long breathe out when they put some air in between.

“Can you please describe it?” a guy said through the radio.

“Male, approximately eighteen or twenty feet, typical orca, you know, black with big white patches and perfect teething,” he said with a hint or mockery, and Robin, even in the clima of tension, couldn't help but smirk, shaking her head.

“Noted,” they said through the radio. “Can you spot where it's going?”

“Seemed on the way around Little Dennis in Falmouth,” replied Strike. “It's not following us, so I guess it's just going for the fishermen. We have no fish on board.”

“Excellent well, make sure you get yourself safe. Thanks for letting us know.”

“You're welcome,” Strike chuckled to Robin, now visibly relieved, as the communication terminated. “Ted is going to flip, have you seen that? Is the very first time I pass by one. A mate in Plymouth told me he saw one a couple summers ago, but he wasn't sure it was really a killer whale. I guess they had babies and they grew like that one. Where you scared?”

“No,” Robin smirked. “Because I was with you.” Strike grinned at her, and focused back on sailing, until Robin turned the engine off by surprise.

“What are you doing?” asked Strike, turning around. They were near the coast of St. Mawes.

“Sit with us for a minute?” asked Robin, sitting again and patting the space next to her. Strike looked surprised. “We need to resolve a little something before that lunch.”

Strike gulped, feeling what it was about, and sat next to her.

“Listen, Robin, I...”

“No, you listen,” said Robin, looking very determined. Strike shut up and nodded. “How am I any different than Charlotte? Elin? Culpepper's cousin?”

“How did you-?”

“I'm a detective,” Robin rose her eyebrows as if saying 'for real?' “I know you're a womanizer, Cormoran. How am I any different?”

Strike looked at her with a small pout and raising his eyebrows like a confused bulldog Robin felt like petting.

“Because up until I saw you and Rosie... I had never wanted to be a father,” replied Strike. “There have been a bunch of women, you know that, and most of them were meaningless hook-ups, like Nina. They were sexy, caught me single and needy, and...” Strike shrugged. He was having a hard time looking at Robin in the eye. How did he seem any better than the unfaithful Matthew? “I swear to God I've never cheated on anyone. My mum raised me a gentleman, never an unfaithful brat, I learned the lesson. So I never wanted to meet any children any hook-up had. Elin had a daughter, a little girl, bit older than Rosie. I always avoided her because I didn't want them to look at me with the fear and insecurity I saw in Lucy every time a new man came home. And I never had the slightest of interests in fatherhood. I had one perfect relationship with my mate Tracey, a fellow SIB, and we broke-up. She wanted children, I didn't. Now she's pregnant with her first son, and already has a daughter, a few years old, with an old friend of us she went and married. As easy as that, I had no problem ending the perfect relationship for that. And uhm... Charlotte, she was... she was toxic. She was crazy, and I wasn't good for her either, I was just to make the Honourable Jackass Ross jealous,” Robin snorted and smirked, shaking her head. “And I guess I loved her for some weird alignment of planets. I honestly don't know what I saw in her aside from her beauty, that now just seems... dangerous beauty, cold and marble and... nothing warm, nothing that could ever feel like home. Neither of us wanted a family and I guess what truly had us bond was the fact that we both come from completely messes of families, hers was actually was worse, so it always made me feel I wasn't so bad. And she never knew what love was like. Robin, us are so different to all of them I wouldn't even know where to begin... you're my sun. You're light and warmth and colour...” Robin smiled softly, getting emotional. “And even when you aren't. Even when you're sad and struggling... you're real, you're honest, you're raw. All those other girls, they just saw masculinity and virility and my excellent bed skills, I do have the fame,” he snorted a laugh, and she smiled more. “But none of them ever saw what you see. None of them ever loved my job, tolerated my music, had any real interest in me or the things I liked. I never went and had a long deep conversation with them like I do with you, you know? Not even with Charlotte. I wasn't to feel understood and they didn't want the disappointment of discovering I'm not damn Hugh Grant writing them songs and giving them bouquets of flowers.” Robin had to laugh, looking down at Rosie, who was deep asleep with her lips slightly parted.

“If I'm so different, then what?” asked Robin. “I'm not a model, Cormoran. I'm damaged and perhaps a little bit crazy as well, and I have a daughter. It's like Charlotte without the beauty and even more baggage if possible. I'm not going to be Leda having men coming and going, I won't have my daughter be scared and insecure and run away. She goes first, always. Even if one day I have to drop my job, even if I have to move away, it will always be for Rosie. I could go and break all contact with you for Rosie, if you wound-up being a royal bastard.”

“Do you think all I care about is beauty? Because no! And for the record, you're absolutely stunning,” said Strike, indignant, making her blush. “So you're not a model, well, am I?” he snorted. “Jesus, Robin... look at you. What part of you wouldn't I be interested in? You've got the most stunning eyes, your hair is pure sun-rays in cascade, and your body is all... tall and curvy and pretty. And you've got all these freckles, it's like looking at the Cornish sky at night,” Robin looked at him teary-eyes. “And I'm damaged as well. I've got a baggage as well. Those things were never a problem in me. Charlotte's problem wasn't that, her problem was that she was a pathological liar with no sense for honesty, who knew no kindness and just cruelty and threats all the fucking time. Who used people to get the hell she wanted, that was unbearable. I'm not afraid of baggage... it makes someone human. Real... And the fact that you put her first, that's the least I'd expect of you, Robin.”

“I don't want you to break her heart,” said Robin with a hoarse voice. “I can see how much she adores you... and shit...” she rubbed her eyes impatiently. “You're all I thought of for so long. I was dying to come back and hug you, and see you once again... and I wanna take the leap, but what about all the risks, uh? I don't know how much more I can stand, Corm, I...” her voice sounded like crying and it broke something inside of Strike, who reached to hold her hand between his own.

“You know, when I met you, I knew you were the girl one courtships with all the hard work, for the rest of his lifetime. The one who deserves the perfect wedding, the perfect house, the children... the one who wants the full stereotype package,” she rolled eyes but smiled. “That's always seemed like a very boring, undesirable package for me but... you've always been a magnet and I've been so long trying not to give in and just say yes to all you wanted, that now I realise it's been absurd. We were doomed to be together, Robin. You were doomed to be my compass and get me into new, exciting adventures, I never had interest in. And I want it to happen. Are you listening? I want it all, if it is with you. I want you, I want Rosie, I want us to be a family, the one you both, and even I, deserve. One with faithfulness, where no one quits and leaves just like that, one with trust and love... and a pretty house where I can build Rosie her own swings, and she can run all around when she knows how to. I won't quit, just like I didn't quit trying to find you for twenty months, not caring if it was like looking for a needle in a haystack, I won't give up, I won't stop working for our future. I will always take care of you both because I love you. Because the moment you came into my life felt like my life would never be the same, and the moment I met Rosie I knew where I belong.”

Without another word, Robin buried a hand in his hair, and pushed him so their lips crashed.

  
  


 


	18. Family

**Chapter 18:**

It took Strike and Robin are their will power to leave the boat, but when they finally did, was with swollen lips and dishevelled hairs, and the excuse of the sea wind already prepared. Strike thanked his lucky stars Robin hadn't been wearing make-up, or else his lips would be pink. Strike kept a discreet hand on the small of Robin's lower back as he guided her through the pier and towards The Rising Sun, that had tables outside from where to watch the ocean.

“Weren't we going to the beach?” asked Strike sitting next to his uncle.

“Tide's going up,” replied Ted. “We figured here it'd be more comfortable.”

“Lucy called to check you arrived alright, said you forgot to call,” commented Joan casually as her kind eyes formed an expression of slight chastise towards her nephew.

“Girl worries too much. A Doom Bar, please, Robin, fancy more wine?” Strike looked up at the waiter, who had just arrived to take Strike and Robin's orders, while Ted and Joan were already drinking.

“Ah, no, just water, thanks. And do you have juice for my baby? Any kid is fine, just not too cold and with a straw.”

“Right away,” the waiter smiled specially warm at Robin and Strike gave his back his best bulldog glare as he went back into the Rising Sun.

“Robin, why don't you hand Rosie over to me? Your arms must be about to fall off,” Strike smiled sweetly as Robin, who looked grateful to give her arms a break and passed the sleeping baby off to Strike.

“She's such a pretty girl, just like you,” complimented Joan with a warm expression, squeezing Robin's knee. “Did you two sleep well tonight?”

“Yes,” Robin and Strike answered at once. Joan rolled her eyes at Strike.

“Love, I meant the girls, God knows you could sleep on a rock.”

Robin smiled at the exchange and looked again at Joan.

“We had a good night, thanks,” confirmed Robin. “Rosie slept better than I've seen her in a while. It was weird not to hear Cormoran's snoring though, since in London there's no way out from them,” she teased Strike, who smirked, covering the back of Rosie's head with his hand as he supported her against his chest.

“Well, let us know if there's anything at all you need,” said Joan kindly as the drinks were lowered onto the table.

“Thank you, I will,” Robin felt very grateful at the Burkes, who had been so nice with her.

“Have you chosen your meal yet?” asked the waiter.

Strike chose the Rising Sun's Char-grilled 9oz burger with 'extra onion', Joan asked for the Whole Tail Breaded Scampi, Ted the 8oz 28 Day Aged Bistro Rump Steak, and Strike recommended Robin the Catch of the Day “In the Pan”.

“And what do you have for a one year old with a total of seven teeth?” asked Robin looking shyly at the waiter. She could give Rosie some baby food she had in her bag, or breast milk, and if she was back in Doha she wouldn't even dare to ask and get the subsequent mockery, but this was a classy restaurant. They sure had to have something. She wanted to give Rosie something new.

“We have a dish of ham, egg and chips,” the waiter shrugged. Robin nodded.

“Yeah, that's soft enough, thanks.”

“Time to introduce her to real food?” asked Strike excitedly.

“Don't think I haven't noticed you giving her bacon,” replied Robin with a smirk. “God only knows what happens when I leave you two alone.” Strike sniggered.

“She was dying for it!” Strike claimed.

“Do you remember you ate your very first hamburger right here?” Ted commented to Strike, who looked impressed. “The one I've asked, you were like a year and a half, and we were chatting here with my sister, she was pregnant with Luce,” Robin smiled, enjoying the story so far. “I was telling Leda, 'this kid wants solids sis!' he was looking at our food with such desire, you should've seen, his eyes were about to come out when they brought me the hamburger. But Leda said kid was too young, so she asked some sausages for him, and he ate the sausages, turned around, grabbed half a hamburger I had abandoned with his own two fatty fists, and ripped a mouthful of it before none of us could stop him.” Robin laughed imagining it, and Strike chuckled. He always enjoyed his uncle and aunt's good memories of them. “He choked on it and all, but kept going, and Leda was about to rip it away from him but I was like just let him, he's hungry, you know? They put those tiny sausages, completely worthless, and he was the size of a two year old already.”

“Aw, how adorable,” Robin grinned at Strike, with a twinkle in her eyes that he had missed, and squeezed his knee under the table. Then she didn't let go until their food arrived. “Is your entire family from here, Ted?”

“More or less,” Ted replied. “I was born here and so was my sister. Our father was a fisherman here, ex military, got Cancer when we were young and died,” Robin frowned, saddened. “And mum was a florist, died shortly before Leda, thank God, because she would've died from sadness otherwise. Dad was a more strict guy, without much education, fought in the II World War and all, got bit traumatised from it. And mum was this chirpy happy person, bohemian, traveller, everything Leda wound-up being. When she became a widow, she had the ovaries to raise us both all on her own perfectly fine and we used to spend the holidays travelling.”

“Comes in the family uh?” Robin commented. Ted nodded with a smirk.

“They were both from here, and my dad's mum was from here, although my dad's father was Scottish, also a military, not much surprise,” Ted shrugged. “My mum's mother was Bavarian, and hence, we all wound-up speaking bits of German, not a lot, but you know, this and that.”

“Wait, your father, a soldier who fought the II World War in our side, married a descendant of Germans?” Robin looked very surprised. “Those must've been wonderful family dinners.” She said with irony.

“Actually they were,” replied Ted, enjoying her surprise. “My family was a lesson of tolerance and diplomacy. My mum loved music, her dad loved music, and in that side of the family music was a big thing. My grandparents had come here long before the Nazis, because my grandpa had lost his job and UK National Orchestra had offered him a position, so he came to work, his daughter was born here, and when the conflict started well, grandpa was Jew. No way he was coming back! They had permission to stay for work, they sought refugee then to ensure they wouldn't be brought back, and my mum was born Cornish, grew up Cornish, and went to the best music schools only to meet my dad and decide to settle in St. Mawes, grow a family here. When she met my dad, he was welcomed into her family as a hero who fought to free Germany from what grandpa called 'the nutters', and they always got along. They respected soldiers and my dad was actually very into music, he played the guitar in his boat and claimed fish would come faster then. Besides, Scottish, German... all immigrants. There was a lot of camaraderie that comes from that.”

“Woah,” Robin looked impressed, and looked at Strike, amused. He didn't look German in the slightest, unless you took Anna Frank for reference. “Please tell me you have a quilt,” Robin teased with a smirk.

“I wasn't raised as a Scot,” Strike replied with a chuckle. “But it does explain I'm so good at understanding accents. Whole fam was full. Should've heard these people when they came from holidaying in Glasgow.” Ted snorted a laugh and nodded.

“Joan here is the only pure Cornish, aren't you, love?”

“Famouthian for more than a century,” Joan nodded, smiling. “I met Ted in university and couldn't resist. Fell in love with St. Mawes, and haven't regretted a thing.”

“Aww,” Robin grinned. Rosie suddenly jerked herself awake and started crying, but Strike had it handled; he enveloped her with his arms until she was almost invisible, and tucked his head towards her, kissing her face and whispering nothings until she calmed down shortly after. “Sometimes I wonder who gave you the baby manual, that didn't think of sharing with me.” Robin joked, caressing her daughter's pink cheek with a thumb.

“I'm learning from the best,” replied Strike.

“Poor thing, is she hungry?” inquired Joan, smiling sweetly at Rose.

“She must've had a nightmare and woke herself up,” wondered Robin. “Everything alright, love? Want some mummy snuggles?” Rose yawned big and grabbed a fistful of Strike's shirt before closing her eyes against his shoulder.

“She's fine,” Strike patted her back. “Will she wake up to eat?”

“Uhm,” Robin checked her watch. “Better keep her awake. Here, Rosie, want to try this?” Robin neared the juice to her and Rosie's eyes opened and lazily examined the beverage. She didn't oppose it when Robin put her lips around the straw, and she sucked lazily. Upon tasting the new drink, her eyes opened more and she sucked with more insistence.

“Yep, she likes it,” Strike smiled at the kid.

Food came around and Strike ate his food and Rosie's leftovers, once she had been coaxed enough to eat at least a little. The baby fell asleep again, and after sitting there chatting for a while, showing Ted and Joan the killing whale they had spotted, Strike commented he wanted to show Robin the baby seals and Ted offered to take them, so the fivesome got in Ted's truck, where the car seat for Oliver was adjusted for Rose, and drove North by the coast to Portlooe and to Looe Island, also called St. George's Island, to which they could arrive on a small boat from Portlooe. They arrived to a big beach in Looe Island and strolled around tall trees and thick grass hills that made Strike cringe a little, finally, they stopped near some sea rocks.

“There!” Joan pointed.

Robin followed Joan's finger and, sure enough, not so far away there were three adult seals flopping around the coast with four baby seals.

“Oh, they're adorable!” Robin whispered. She was afraid the minimal sound would scare them. Strike, holding their own sleepy baby, smiled looking at her.

“Yes... they are.” But he wasn't looking at them, but at the beautiful woman.

They arrived home knackered in the evening, and when bed time arrived, Strike slid out of his bed the minute he was sure his family was sleeping upstairs, and as soundlessly as he could, he walked to the attic, knocking on the door. No answer came and he went in, feeling his soul melt as he caught Robin deep asleep in the middle of the bed, snuggling Rose against her, the baby also asleep. Strike smiled and walked to them, and Robin woke up.

“What'y doin' here?” asked Robin sleepily.

“Just wanted to kiss my girls goodnight,” murmured Strike, and he felt Robin smile against his lips when he leaned to kiss her softly. “Sweet dreams.”

“You too,” Robin whispered, already pretty much asleep. Strike then kissed Rose's cheek.

“Sleep well angels,” Strike found himself self-disgusting with his cheesiness, but didn't care. He took one last look at them, and went back to his own bed.

Strike wasn't expecting to be woken up by the sun-rays and Rosie, as sharp squealing and giggling resonated in the room. His eyes opened, feeling drool in his beard, and saw Rosie roughly grabbing his face, his big blue-grey eyes narrowing as she giggled, crinkling her nose adorably and showing her tiny teeth.

“Poppet, you awake!” Strike smiled putting his arms around her and blowing raspberries in every piece of chubby skin he could reach, making her laugh. He suddenly distinguished another laugh and saw Robin was sitting on his bed, looking at him. He blushed, as he was shirtless, and smiled at her. “Good morning.” He said.

“Good morning,” replied Robin, also blushing as she saw the dark mane of chest hair, the shoulders are muscled and broad, his tiny nipples at each side of a line of thick black hair going down to his bellybutton. “Joan said breakfast is ready.”

To Strike's surprise, Robin went in and kissed him with such intensity she almost lied on him. He hummed onto the kiss and smiled against it, keeping one hand wrapped around Rose and another buried in Robin's hair.

“I may pass from the bacon,” murmured Strike before kissing her again. Robin smirked and pulled out, taking Rose from him.

“Get up, get that down, and come, I have excellent news and a lot of hunger,” Robin grinned at him and left. Strike frowned, not understanding, and then he looked down and, seeing the tent in the sheets, he understood.

They had breakfast with the family and then Strike took Robin and Rose on a stroll around Carrick Roads, where they found an isolated beach and they sat, letting Rose play on the sand and splatter a bit of water. Strike and Robin snuggled observing her, sitting with Robin's back against his chest and Strike's arms around her, his face burrowed in her neck.

“Does this count as a date?” asked Strike kissing behind Robin's ear, eliciting some goosebumps. Robin smiled, moving to kiss his lips.

“I'll take it.”

They couldn't distract much with each other because they were looking after Rose, but they were happy just with being together.

“I want to take this slow,” said Robin after a while. They were sitting in silence, just enjoying their company. “I've just divorced, I've been through a lot with one man, I want to go super slow. For Rosie. Not forcing things to go slower than we feel it, but also not hurrying them along, just...”

“Naturally flowing,” Strike finished. She nodded, kissing his cheek. “Do you want the others to know?”

“I don't mind. We'll just tell them we're seeing where this goes.” Robin shrugged. “But if they meddle...”

“I'll intervene,” Strike assured. Robin nodded satisfied. “What was that big news?”

“Oh!” Robin had completely forgotten. “Ilsa called early today. Said I'm now officially an Ellacott again, and so is Rose. She'll have our full new documentation ready by the time we get back.” She was beaming and Strike chuckled.

“That's fantastic!” he happily beamed, kissing her briefly. “Robin Venetia Ellacott and Rose Linda Ellacott,” Strike looked satisfied at the girls. “Beautiful.”

“Are you happy?” Robin asked caressing his face with a smile.

“The happiest,” Strike smiled sincerely and kissed her palm. “I actually got a gift for you and Rosie.”

“Do you?” Robin looked amazed, and Strike searched in his chest pocket and got two silver-chained necklaces with a violet pendant in stick shape. They were two necklaces. “Oh, they're beautiful!”

“They're amethyst. This one was my mum's,” he held the one with a larger chain. “And the other was mine. I was just rummaging through my things this morning, remembered I had left them here years ago... Lucy's got another one, but you see, I'm not really a necklaces person and this isn't very masculine either, plus it gets entangled in the chest hair,” Robin chuckled. “So I have kept them in a box for ages... it's time you and Rosie have them. Of course Rosie is too young, but you can hang it in her mobile over her crib.”

“Cormoran, I cannot accept it. They're too special...” Strike shook his head.

“You don't understand,” Strike said softly, smiling. “I told you my mum was a bohemian. She bought these because amethysts are healing stones. They help a ton, apparently, with emotions, Chakra, restoration, balancing... all things. De-intoxicates and cleanse the soul. It'll help Rosie sleep with just keeping it in her room.”

“You don't believe in those things,” Robin murmured. Strike shrugged.

“Mum did. When we were little, there was a shitty period, we couldn't manage to spend one week in one place, mum was dating someone about as awful as Whittaker who had Lucy and I scared, mum broke things up and got depressed and I hit kids at school, and Lucy stopped talking... then a friend of mum who has also passed by now, she was a big believer of these things, a hippie from the eighties. She gave her these, convinced her they'd help and hey, I barely remember those times, I don't know how I agreed with wearing a purple necklace or how it really helped... But mum recovered, settled back in St. Mawes for a few great months, Lucy recovered, I stopped hitting people... We were happy again and we never took them off. Whittaker never understood their value, thankfully, so they were never stolen. I finally took mine off when she died, and Lucy wears it on-and-off, doesn't want to lose it. I think they'll be good for you in these new times.”

Robin looked at him emotional, with glassy eyes, and hugged them.

“You're such a good man,” she murmured, squeezing him tight. Strike kissed the top of her head and hugged her back. “Are you sure?” she asked pulling away. He nodded, and she let him put it on and put the other one in her inside pocket. “I'm never taking it off. It's beautiful.”

“It fits you,” Strike smiled, kissing her softly. “My mum was the kindest. She would've wanted you two to have it. Hopefully it will protect you and heal you and make you feel good.”

“Oh I already feel very good,” Robin held his face and kissed him again. “I love you, Cormoran Blue Strike.”

“I love you too. Both of you.”

“We should take a picture,” Robin proposed, stretching to get hold of Rose. “We have no family pictures, and we're pretty much a family now.”

“That'd be nice,” Strike smiled, feeling inexplicably chirpy.

Since Matthew had forbidden photographs at her house, and since Robin had recovered her life in a way that felt like coming from the dead, she had sworn to herself not to take anything for granted, and she took pictures very often. She liked to have them around to remind herself that, despite all her traumas and low moments, she was lucky and loved and had many happy moments in her life, partially to cheer herself up when she felt low and partially to value her good things better. Robin also felt she'd love to have many pictures to show Rose life was good, and the bad times had only lasted a very tiny portion compared to their whole lives, the same way she had liked all her family's photographs as a child. And Strike understood this and felt like he'd love to be a part of the memory albums that made Robin happy and that would one day serve for Rose to know what they had been like when she was a baby. So he collaborated putting his arms around Robin and Rosie, that Robin held with one harm, her head between Strike's chin and Rose's right ear, and with her other hand Robin held her phone up. Previously they stopped to put the necklace on Rose's neck for the picture, to show off. They just had to remove it when she fell asleep and there would be no danger.

Once the picture was taken, they contemplated it and felt happy with the final result. They looked like a happy family, all snuggled up together like a tight knot, three smiley faces, Rosie mid giggle, as she loved being held.

“I love it!” Robin proclaimed. “We look so nice!”

Strike remembered how happy she had been to brag about her engagement in her phone, calling her friends and posting photos online, and remembered the happiness she had gotten from getting her social networks going again and chatting and seeing pictures of all her friends and family, that in their majority, lived up in Yorkshire, so she rarely saw them, making the social networks a perfect way to stay in touch.

“Why don't you post it online?” suggested Strike, thinking about this. Robin looked surprised.

“Are you sure?” she asked. Robin knew he was a very private way.

“For one time we have something good to brag, sure!” Strike kissed her cheek. “Let your family know you're a happy girl.”

“I truly am,” Robin pressed their lips together. She just felt so cheerful and safe with him. Who would've thought that grumpy old Strike would become someone so chirpy all of the sudden, but the glistening in his eyes made her exuberant. She loved being happy, but Robin loved more knowing she was making Strike happy, along with Rosie.

Since Robin didn't quite know what to say without outing their starting relationship far too soon, she took a while to choose. In the meantime, Strike took Rosie to the coast and hung her with her feet kicking the bit of water over a ground covered with stones and sand, and Robin took a beautiful photo of this, with Rosie excitedly kicking and giggling and Strike smiling so sweetly at him. She decided to post that photo as well, and also added one she had taken in London of Strike sitting with his shirt slightly opened, on the leather sofa of the office, with Rosie asleep with a hand clutching a fistful of his chest hair coming from the crack of the shirt. Strike had his hands sweetly wrapped around Rosie holding her against his chest, her lips formed a pout with her eyes closed, and Strike had bent his neck and was sweetly looking at her.

  
  


  
  


 


	19. Oh Rosie!

**Chapter 19:**

Robin decided the post would wait until later, because she wanted to surprise Strike.

They went back home shortly after and turned out Strike's long time friend Dave Polworth and his wife Penny were just visiting their families in St. Mawes and had just arrived, so they met for lunch and weren't home until night, after going all around to do some tourism with the three girls of Dave and the one of Robin. Robin waited until everyone had gone to bed, she had kissed Strike sweetly goodnight, and was snuggled up in her bed with Rose asleep in the bassinet Ted had provided, to pull the laptop and put it on her lap. She lately found herself better at writing than at talking out loud, and she found a bigger need to communicate, after twenty months of full isolation.

So she went to her page, put the three photos along with one they had taken back in London with her family and the Herberts, all together, and prepared to write something nice along:

_Hello. For the last month, ever since I was brought back home, I've seen paparazzi do everything they could to get a story, a statement,anything they could and I couldn't give. I've gotten busy trying to figure out how to get my life back, the life I was stolen from 21 months ago, on July 2011. I used to have a flat in Ealing, a fiancé, a tremendous job in Denmark Street (City of London) and not much money but enough to live comfortably. I had my family, my friends, and my best friend Detective Cormoran Strike, my partner in business. All of that suddenly was taken from me and I was left alone with a violent, abusive monster who made the next 20 months of my life hell. And when I came back, in some way it was hard to feel I was really back; London has changed so much, the only friends I knew in London suddenly had children, other friends' children were suddenly teenager, and my best friend and business partner was suddenly bankrupt, homeless and with grey hairs. Even I had, of course, changed tremendously, and now I am a mother of a year old daughter and in the moment I was as rich as .£0 and with a 500 pounds baggage. Twenty months had affected everything so much, it was hard to feel back home because home was far from what I remembered. I realised I had to make London feel home again, get my job back, reconnect with my people, catch up with everyone I had missed and with a city who has given me my professional dream come true and much more._

_I thought it'd be harder than this, to be honest. I didn't realise that I was home because my home was people, not a place. Things didn't have to stay the same, my people were still there. Slightly changed inside, but still the beautiful people I love. It's been over a month since I was brought back and I already gave you all a summary of basically what happened in the twenty months I wasn't here,I've caught up with both of you, things are starting to feel like even if they'll never be what they were, we're starting a new book that promises tons of happiness, joy, and laughter, and I'm happy with it. All of you have done so much for me and my little bean Rose, all of you have put money to the crowdfunding we did for Rosie and I's new beginning, all of you put your hard work to bring me back. But there are three people I feel have gotten not half the recognition they deserve, and today I'd like to tell you about them. I'd like for people to know how incredible they are._

_This is how things were when I disappeared: my partner and friend Detective Strike controlled our business, paid the taxes and the rental of our office in Denmark Street, and also rented a little attic for himself. He didn't make much, but it was enough to live sort of well and since he had just caught famous serial killer Donald Laing, cases would start coming in packs of fifty and filling his pockets with money. He had (and has) two best friends since childhood, Doctor Nick and Lawyer Ilsa Herbert, who then lived in a pretty house in Wandsworth, I remember, and who every now and then had offered us their house to work when the paparazzi crowded around our office. I'm talking about three normal, super kind people. I didn't know the Herberts so much but we got along and through Cormoran we stayed in some touch._

_When I came back, and I heard their incredible story, I couldn't believe my ears. I still find it difficult, and I can't stop thanking my lucky stars for putting them in my life, and I keep telling Rosie how damn lucky and fortunate we are. I couldn't believe Ilsa, Nick and Cormoran were such superheroes of us and had been so selfless, giving, and focused on my safety only. Three people that, as you can imagine, had way more things to think about, without going far, Nick and Ilsa became parents of twins just one year after I had gone missing, and now those kinds are Rosie's best friends in the whole wide world._

_I'll try to tell you in short: Cormoran wound-up so focused and absorbed on bringing me home that he stopped spending time on work and clients, so he went bankrupt and lost our office and his attic (that both now thanks to you and some hard work we got back) and was forced to depend 100% on his family and friends to survive. My family asked his help so obviously they helped as well, but his main help came from Nick and Ilsa. They were the only ones living in London, with room for one more, with so much kindness, and enough lack of responsibilities to host him and take care of him entirely, from cleaning, to doing laundry or cooking. Were they super busy with their own lives and jobs as well? You can bet on it. But they still did it because they knew the best they could do for me was make sure the one we all thought of as the only one who could find me would do so. They could only make sure he was well fed, healthy, okay. They could only love him and care for him, and give all they had for the cause, and that's what they did._

_On the journey, the Herberts accepted taking care of an adult man entirely so he could focus on the investigation he was obsessed for and entirely devoted to, convince him to take breaks to sleep or eat, and make money for it, without ever knowing for how long. After a year, they became parents and five people didn't fit in the house, so they buckled-up and moved to a bigger house so Cormoran could stay and continue with his job. They did enormous sacrifices, all three of them, selflessly, and even if I wasn't so close to Nick and Ilsa, even when they had babies to care for, and look where it got us. I couldn't feel more blessed. And when we could come back, they hosted me and Rosie as well until between family & friends Cormoran and I had enough to unite forces and get our office and the attic back, that now all three of us share. Nick cared for my health and Ilsa is such a badass, fierce lawyer that she got my ex in prison, got restraining orders, got me full custody of my baby, handled our divorce and just now has managed TO MAKE US ELLACOTTS AGAIN. So let me introduce you to my daughter once again: Rose Linda ELLACOTT. I'm forever grateful and in debt for them and still thinking about it makes me cry because I don't know how we got so lucky to have such wonderful people in my life._

_But that's my home. In this month, all this wonderful people teamed up with Rosie and I, and we're all a big team, I feel. We care for each other and we love each other. But the man who continues to baffle me, impress me, amaze me and amuse me the most is still my best friend Cormoran. The Cormoran I know now is in essence the same of always, but I get to know new sides I don't think anyone, not even himself, knew he had in him. And like fine wine, it got better over time and every day I have the joy of living with him and discovering more and getting more stunned and marvelled by him. And I want the world to know how truly wonderful of a man he is._

_Us three (Cormoran, Rosie and yours truly) have become a pack that I feel is pretty inseparable, not just because Rosie will scream bloody murder if anyone takes her best nap buddy away, but also because somehow, I feel we've gotten so used to having to recover our lives together (remember Cormoran lost it all as well) and support each other, to be stronger together than divided (and lets be honest, being detectives, it was already essential for us to get each other's backs all the time and be a team) that now I cannot imagine living without Cormoran's snoring. I imagine when we have money to find a bigger place, we'll just move all three and be a little dysfunctional family, for as long as we can manage it. Who knows, perhaps one day Cormoran will marry and leave us girls ;) (and I will just let Rosie free to kill him). But for now, it's us three and I love it._

_Under Cormoran's suggestion, now we're enjoying Rosie's first ever holidays in Cornwall, which I had never seen before, that's Cormoran's natal place. Rosie and I are being spoiled and feeling so loved by his family, his friends, his hometown... and enjoying every second of it. And on the journey, we're taking time to discover who we are now, two years older and with a baby between us, and working on being better than Sherlock & Watson because we want to spend life catching bad guys and making this world a little happier and safer for us all._

_So enjoy these pictures. This IS Cormoran Strike. The same man who last time I knew him, didn't want anything to do with children, but now is the only one capable of calming in instants my daughter's biggest tantrums, and they're the cutest pair in the house. I feel Rosie has him completely wrapped around her finger and I couldn't resist taking these pics because one day, when Rosie's older and regardless of what life has become, I'll show them to her and I'll tell her, this is Cormoran Strike, the closest thing you'll ever have to a real father, and this is the man who, as you were a baby, sang you to sleep, hugged you when you were sad, made you laugh the hardest, overprotected you the worst, entertained you when you were bored, changed about as many of your diapers as me, fed you, took care of you when you were sick, warmed you up when you were cold, and always put you first. This is the man you were the most excited to see every day, and you don't know the grin you got when you got to wake him up with smooches and drool and he never, ever got mad. He's not perfect, but his love for you is._

_I hope their relationship never, ever changes, and just gets better with time. You two bring out the best of me, make my heart flutter, you are my suns and life is always easier walked with my favourite team <3_

_Rosie, forgive me but you're so going to be trained in the detective world and forgive Corm because he's never going to let a boy get close to you #SorryNotSoSorry #LetsPretendImNotOverprotectiveAsWell_

 


	20. Perfect three

**Chapter 20:**

Robin was woken up with kisses all over her face, and she smiled smelling Strike's smokey scent mixed with shaving cream scent and English breakfast before kissing him back, putting her arms around his neck, snickering into his lips as the kiss grew more intense and Strike was practically lying on top of her. When they finally pulled apart to breathe, they had to take deep breathes to recover from the lack of air.

“Cormoran, what if your uncle and aunt come up?” Robin smiled sweetly caressing his face, all lovey-dovey.

“They would always knock, but they aren't home. They've gone off to Truro to do their monthly big shopping, fill the car with food up to the ceiling.”

“Shouldn't you have gone help?”

“They do it without me all the time, it's fine. Plus, someone had to stay and look after our guests,” Strike raised eyebrows and winked before kissing her again, humming into the kiss.

“And Rosie...?” Robin pushed him apart to talk.

“Still asleep. Seems like the necklace is helping, is actually late morning,” Strike kissed her forehead. “I legit had to stare for a moment to make sure she was still alive, from how passed-out she is. Sucking on her thumb though.”

“Ah, well,” Robin shrugged, looking at Rose for a moment and then back at Strike as he got comfortable lying next to her over the covers. “So what's got you so excited?” Robin asked rolling and throwing an arm around his torso. She felt weirdly comfortable, as if they had been together for ages.

“I read your post. It'll be difficult for them to not imagine we're together anymore, but...” Strike shrugged, shyly. “No one has ever so publicly spoken so sweetly of me.”

“It was very well deserved,” Robin snuggled up against him.

They lied in silence, just snuggled-up together. If they focused they could even hear Rosie's slow breathing and every once in a while a tiny other noise she made. Strike interrupted their silence after a while.

“What do you want to do today?”

“Uhm... we could try a second date?”

“Sounds great,” Strike's lips pressed against her forehead.

Robin had been giving it a lot of thought and she decided it was probably time to talk about sex.

“Listen uh...” Robin searched for his eyes and he looked curious at her. “I'm not sure when or if I will ever be ready to have sex, Cormoran. I just want to be honest.”

“That's okay, I imagined it,” Cormoran gave her a tiny smile of reassurance. “Whenever you want it you just have to ask for it. I just want you to be comfortable, if you don't want to have sex then we won't.”

“What if I never...?”

“We'll cross the bridge when we get there,” replied Strike. “Although I can assure you I'm not leaving you for sex. Gee, if I get too desperate, God gave me two hands, you know?” Robin rolled eyes and smirked.

“You truly don't mind?”

“Of course not. All I care is you and Rosie's happiness. If you're happier not thinking of sex, then so be it.”

“Can't believe it. Cormoran-sex-lover-Strike...”

“Anything for you,” Strike insisted, and Robin hugged him. “So... what do you think if our second date includes kayak?” Robin's eyes shun.

“That'd be awesome.”

Strike told Robin to stay longer in bed if she wanted so he could surprised and, intrigued, Robin took Rosie and both settled in bed while she breastfeed the child. Strike then went to the kitchen and prepared a full English for two, put it all up in a tray and then climbed back upstairs and surprised Robin with breakfast in bed. Rosie was awake and sitting up in bed looking milk-drunk, so Strike kissed her on the forehead and settled the tray between them as Robin thanked him. Rosie immediately reached to grab a sausage and Strike chuckled cutting a pierce for her while Robin laughed.

“She's such a Strike sometimes,” Robin commented cheerfully.

The trio enjoyed breakfast in bed and then proceeded to prepare for the kayak. Strike instructed Robin to wear a bikini and comfortable summer clothes in case she got splashed, and same for Rosie, and he lent her some waterproof shoes Strike knew Lucy always left in St. Mawes for kayak. Their sizes weren't exactly the same, but more or less, and since they were going to be sitting in a kayak it didn't matter much anyway.

“What about Rosie?” asked Robin as she packed the baby bag.

“I'll wear her in the carrier bag, I'll keep her safe,” Strike assured.

Strike's preparation required more time; he had to find a suitable short-sleeved tee, and long-sleeved waterproof trousers he always kept in St. Mawes for those things, along with waterproof sports boots that had cost an arm and a leg but had been totally worth it, but that he kept in St. Mawes as well because they were of no use in London. He had to make sure his stump was properly covered and, just in case, he used a waterproof cover that had also been too expensive but that in St. Mawes was essential, and that he wore underneath his trousers and shoe.

“All ready,” Strike announced at last, securing Rosie against his chest. “Let me just pack us some food in Rosie's bag, we can stuff it in the kayak and stop for lunch somewhere.”

“Sounds great!” Robin loved seeing Strike with Rosie in her bag against her chest. She felt there was something incredibly virile and attractive on seeing a man care in such ways for a baby, and then go and cook.

Once they were finally ready, they walked to the Quay, were the place Strike knew was.

“Hello, is Lisa around?” asked Strike to a young lad who was organising kayaks outside.

“Yeah, right there!” he answered pointing to a young blonde who was also organising things. Robin wondered if this 'Lisa' had also slept with Strike.

“Thanks. Lisa!” Strike called, approaching the blonde, and she looked up and grinned, running to half-hug him as Rosie allowed.

“Cormoran! Long time no see! How are you, is this pretty girl yours?”

“Unfortunately not, and yeah, all right,” Strike smiled. Robin blushed seeing he would like to be her dad, apparently. “Rosie is my... is Robin's daughter. Robin, this is my old friend Lisa. She handles things here with the kayaks.”

“Nice to meet you,” Robin shook her hand.

“Pleasure is mine. So how can I help you?”

“I wanted to take Robin and Rosie on their first kayak experience,” said Strike with a smirk. “Have you got something for us?”

“I sure do, come about!” Lisa and Strike did some small talk as the trio walked to the kayaks and Lisa looked around the kayaks as she took two paddles. “Do you want a tandem or two singles?”

“Do you have any preference?” Strike asked Robin. She shrugged.

“I've never done this, I have no idea.”

“Right, well give me two singles, because they're more lightweight than the tandem and that way you can come next to me and I can show you how it works better, and plus Rosie can see you all the time, which is probably best for her, right?” Robin nodded and Strike pointed to two kayaks. Lisa approved Strike's choices, considering Robin would learn fast because it wasn't so hard, and that way they could manoeuvre better, and prepared them and with the other lad, they moved the kayaks down a concrete ramp into the water.

“But the orcas...” Robin murmured a bit scared. She thought they were going to go further into Percuil River or Carrick Roads.

“Don't worry, we'll go up the Percuil River, no orcas there. Water's not deep enough,” Strike assured, putting an arm around Robin and kissing her temple. “I'll keep us safe.” Robin nodded, visibly relaxing, and after they had their life vests on she let Strike and Lisa help her into her kayak and explain her how to use the paddles and how to sit and balance.

Robin thought she got it and after the initial shock of sitting on the water, which was a bit weird of a feeling, she felt very comfortable and paddled herself a bit into the water to make space for Strike's kayak. Strike needed no help, even while carrying Rosie, and got into her kayak, putting Rosie's bag in front of him, between his legs.

“Good job, Robin! You look like you've done this all your life!” Strike complimented cheerfully as he paddled next to her. Rosie had been put facing the front this time, with her back against Strike's chest, and Strike observed amused how big her eyes got looking around, but she did not cry.

Robin beamed against the sun and paddled with Strike's instructions, motivated by his compliments and how well she actually felt paddling.

“Left to Percuil, right?” asked Robin, turning to look at him.

“Yes, greatly done! Make sure not to get in the way of the boats alright?” Strike observed her happily and paddled away next to her, as they passed a sailing club up Percuil river and for two hours, they paddled without much conversation, both simply enjoying the experience, until they reached Polingey Creek, where carefully they put their kayaks up on land and sat nearby, unpacking their prepared lunch.

“You didn't tell Lisa we're together,” Robin commented while devouring her lettuce, tomato, steak and mayonnaise sandwich.

“Did you want me to?” Strike inquired, holding Rosie in his lap.

“I guess not,” Robin admitted. “With how tiny St. Mawes is, everyone would've known before Ted and Joan, that should go first if we're with them.” Strike nodded.

“So is this a great second date, Ms Great at Everything?” Strike kissed her shoulder as she snickered and nodded. “Haven't brought you to an expensive restaurant yet...”

“Rosie's dish was nearing £7 pounds yesterday at the Rising Sun, that's about as expensive as we can handle right now,” Robin kissed him with lips full of mayonnaise and he hummed licking his lips. “Besides, I'm thinking maybe I should plan a date sometime.”

“That sounds interesting,” said Strike. “Can't wait to see what you surprise me with! Knowing you, it'll be great. Hey, do you know how to throw flying stones?”

Robin pretended not to have done it a hundred times in Masham with her brothers and faked to be worse than she was, and while Rosie was entertained sucking on a baby bottle, they stood next to her and Strike stood behind Robin helping her throw. Strike immediately realised Robin not only already knew, but was great at it.

“No way you've never done this.” He said impressed when Robin's stone flew a long distance, bouncing even six times on the water before it sank.

“Maybe I just wanted you to help me,” insinuated Robin with a sensual glance that made Strike's pupils dilate and he just kissed her.

They kissed passionately for a while until Rosie called their attention making a lot of yelling at a giant seagull that was dangerously approaching their remaining food.

“Wooo! Woooo!” Rosie shouted with her lively, high-pitched voice, and Robin laughed. Instead of shooing her, Rosie was actually waving her hands as if saying hello to the seagull.

“Maybe she likes it,” said Strike, amused. “Maybe she's trying to say 'hello, hello!'” Robin laughed harder and Strike moved towards the seagull. “May I introduce you madams to the Cornish seagulls, that don't even blink towards a human.”

In fact, the seagull was one of the biggest Robin had ever seen, and looked defiant at Strike as he approached her. He got to stand in all her enormousness in front of it, and the seagull did not move or hesitate.

“Careful Corm,” Robin warned, sitting next to Rosie and both staring attentive.

“It just doesn't give a fuck. Go!” Strike tried to scare it off. He had grown with them and knew they just didn't fear you. “Oh, come on, you have the ocean full of fish and you want a lettuce sandwich? Really?”

“It just doesn't want _us_ to enjoy it,” Robin giggled.

“Cover Rosie's ears,” said Strike. So Robin did and Strike whistled very high-pitched, so much Robin flinched and the seagull got bothered and trotted away. Strike chuckled and sat again with the women. “Works like magic.”

“My hero!” Robin joked, kissing Strike, who giggled against her lips.

He just felt an exorbitant happiness when he was near her, it was something he had never felt before, and he just felt like hugging her and kissing her and hearing her voice and simply being with her. Robin noticed he seemed happier, cheerful man next to her, he smiled more and his eyes looked brighter and had more wrinkles from laughing, and he was more affective, and she just loved it.

  
  


  
  


  
  


 


	21. Climate change's a bitch

**Chapter 21:**

Their holidays in Cornwall ended just a few days later, but not without a pint with Dave Polworth and his wife, and exploration routes to caves, Land's End, Tintagel Castle and other touristic spots in Cornwall. However, Robin was happy to be back in their attic in London and soon, while she went back to her cases, Strike focused on finding Elliott Hampshire, the husband of a woman who had disappeared mysteriously and, in Strike's opinion, was probably cheating. He had gone to the brothel he frequented, asked people around, found the man had come and gone, and found absolutely no trace of him afterwards, he was just absorbed from Earth.

After weeks, police had finally agreed to go find him, so Strike had gone on holiday thinking they'd find him, but investigating from his laptop in the free moments. Strike had felt a little guilty about leaving without finding him, but kept reminding himself how much Rosie and Robin truly needed to come to Cornwall, which was evident with how better they both looked and slept now that they were back.

“What if,” suggested Robin one night as they sat on their beds with the laptops on their laps, both working while Rosie slept between them hugging her penguin, “he had problems at work?”

“I called, his boss was his wife's sister so they were family, she said he was a great employee and she was happy with him. That he had no enemies at work, no issues that she knew of,” replied Strike. He was now investigating the people that worked with him, seeing if anyone was suspicious or had a criminal record, and making a list with their contact details. “I'm going to start interviewing them all, someone's got to know something. Maybe one of them is letting him stay at home.”

“You think he left willingly?” asked Robin, looking at him.

“Wife says he took all his things,” replied Strike, then shrugged. “I guess he left somewhere for some reason and perhaps something happened on the way there and he never made it.”

“Hmmm...” Robin frowned, going back to her work, but her brain was still thinking.

“Tomorrow I'll go interrogate more co-workers and visit the construction in which Hampshire was currently working. Let's go to bed,” Strike put his laptop away on the night-stand and Robin nodded, putting hers on a chair nearby, and then they snuggled in bed around Rose. “Look at her... she looks so relaxed.” Strike smiled at Rosie, stretched like a sea star.

“Because she is. She's got you and I, best way to never be worried,” Robin reached to kiss Strike and then snuggled putting an arm around Rosie and interlacing fingers with Strike.

Shortly after biding goodnights they were fast asleep.

The next morning it was raining hard against the window and Strike rolled eyes at the weather while he searched for an umbrella and for waterproof boots, trying to keep his prosthetic leg dry.

“I'll see you both later,” Strike peeked Robin's lips as she and Rosie were having breakfast still. “Love you.”

“Love you too, take care. Say bye to Uncle Corm, Ro.” Rosie sleepily let Strike kiss her goodbye and then Strike left.

As he walked down Denmark Street, he marvelled himself thinking how weird and domestic his life had gotten. He was living with someone he had just started dating, co-parenting a baby, practically, and weirdest of it all, he was loving it. Was he sick? He got on the tube as the rain seemed to be calming down, and by the time he got out of the underground near the Olympic Stadium, the sky was dry again but covered with dark clouds that made London look grey and cold for a May day. Strike walked then to the address were a new offices building was being built and soon found a short lady who was Mr Hampshire's sister-in-law and boss. They shook hands and she gave him a yellow plastic helmet.

“So what do you want to know?” asked the woman, guiding him to her office in a portable cabin they had put together as it was typically done with constructions.

“I was wondering if I could talk with your employees, the people who saw him here every day. See if he might've mentioned a vacation or something.”

“Alright, come.”

It took a few minutes before the woman could stop all the work that was going on and tell her employees Strike needed to talk with them about Elliott, so when he reached them they had to talk, and then they went to work and Strike started going one by one, interrupting their work and chatting a little. He knew Mr Hampshire wasn't very social, so he wasn't surprised when no one seemed to know a thing, and went back to Carmella Meek's office. Hampshire's sister-in-law would need a moment to arrive and so Strike took his freedom to look around the office as he waited. Suddenly he saw the word 'Elliott' handwritten, sticking out from under a mountain of paperwork. With curiosity, Strike pulled from the paper sheet where Elliott was written, and got to see some more of the apparent letter. It was the end part, and 'Elliott' had been the sign. Strike could read: ... _how could you do this? I trusted you, you're Maggie's sister! I'll give you two days to fix this and do the right thing, or I will tell for you. Elliott._

Strike frowned and tried to pull more from the paper without making the mountain of papers on top fall, but right then the door opened.

“All done then, Mr Strike?” asked Mrs Meek.

“Yeah,” Strike quickly focused on her so she wouldn't see where he was looking. “I was just wondering, could I get a glass of water or tea before I go? Been a long trip...” He put his best apologetic smile and the woman nodded.

“Sure, there's water outside...”

“Mind if I wait here so I can sit for a bit longer?” asked Strike then, pointing to the prosthesis peeking under his trouser sleeve. “Hurts a bit.” Mrs Meek frowned lightly but nodded.

“I'll go get it then,” she left and Strike quickly pulled his phone and took several pictures of the note, the office, the exact location of the note and even a selfie of himself there, in case Scotland Yard would need it. He then waited for the water and left right after hydrating his throat.

Strike went back to Denmark Street, where he arrived at lunch time, soaked because it had rained again.

“Aw, my poor thing,” Robin kissed him, instantly making him much better as he dripped over the office floor, and took off his coat. “Sit and have some take-out, I'll fetch you dry clothes.”

Robin rushed upstairs while Strike took off his shoes to let them to drip by the window (they were waterproof so the water hadn't gone through, but obviously they were dripping), and quickly started eating. He was starving, and not even Rosie playing in her swing, that was usually very distracting, could take his eyes away from food. Finally Robin came back with some more clothes for him, dry trousers, a dry shirt and even a dry jumper.

“Chilly outside for May, isn't it?” Robin commented giving him the clothes and a towel.

“Climate change's a bitch,” Strike shrugged. He stopped a moment before deciding he could take off his shirt right there, after all, Robin had already seen him shirtless before, and he quickly took it off. “I found something juicy though, you'll see...”

“Cormoran, are you planning on changing here?” Robin asked sounding a bit more scandalised than she had intended. Strike shrugged. “A client could come in any second,” she said, avoiding looking at his naked body, whose trousers were already halfway down his legs, which had made her avoid her gaze very quickly, “they could catch you...”

“A client?” Strike smirked and a thunder echoed, startling Rose for a moment. “With this weather? At lunch time?”

“This is London, could happen...”

Strike detected her discomfort was the real reason and he nodded, hopping to his office and coming out minutes later completely changed, dry and nice.

“I'm going to get this to the dryer, I'll be right back.” Ten minutes later, Strike was back at the office and Robin had finished eating, so he continued with it. “I found this.” Strike passed Robin his phone and she automatically went to the pictures as he ate, blushing at the pictures of her or Rosie that Strike had taken and were so sweet and going straight to what was important.

Robin quietly read the letter and the silence was only interrupted by the rain drumming against the windows and Rose's squeals, and then Robin squealed herself.

“Where's the rest of this?”

“There, I couldn't take this paper quickly without making a bunch of papers fall and call attention. I could've done it more calmly and carefully if I had time more time, but I barely had two minutes,” Strike sighed. “But it's right there. She's hiding something.”

“He threatens her, she goes and kills him, buries him in one of her constructions,” Robin nodded.

“Or hopefully only kidnaps him, they've got two young children,” said Strike. Robin side smiled sadly. “The mates knew absolutely nothing, Hampshire was a quiet, calm guy. I'm going to have to register Hampshire's house, see if he had anything that can be used against her, perhaps he still has it. Or perhaps he has another letter by her. Police has the computer though, I'll have to tell the Met what to look for and be ignored.” Robin gave him an empathetic smile at his frustration.

“You'll get there. You always do.”

Strike smirked, appreciative.

“How are you always so good at knowing what to say?”

“I did almost a whole year of uni,” Robin joked with a wink, and Strike giggled. “Okay so why don't you call the Met, keep them updated?”

“Not yet, they might fuck it up... I'll call Mrs Hampshire and see if I can go to her house today. How are you handling the other cases?”

“They're okay, easy-peasy. Have to go on surveillance though, but I'll bring Rosie with me.”

“Okay, good,” Strike nodded. He phoned Mrs Hampshire from the landline on Robin's desk and she told him to be there in a couple hours, so Strike decided to wait a little until rain passed before he left.

In the meantime, Strike collaborated with Robin on the other cases, and when it was time to go, he kissed them again and rushed to the underground for the third time that day, arriving at the Hampshire's semi-detached house three quarters of hour later. The teenagers were in their bedrooms and Mrs Hampshire guided Strike to a small room that served as the studio, where her husband and I sometimes worked and where their children often did their homework.

“I may also have to register the house a bit.”

“Police already did that.”

“I know,” Strike nodded, looking at the woman. “Look, the police doesn't know this yet, but I think there's a chance that your husband uncovered something that incriminated someone else. I don't know what it is, but I want to try and find any clues on that, I'm hoping he might've hid it in his house. If my theory is right, then he could've been kidnapped so he wouldn't sell whomever is responsible to the police, and finding this would directly tell us who's got him.” Mrs Hampshire looked worried all of the sudden.

“You don't think he's with a whore?” she murmured.

“He could be, but no one in his usual brothel knows anything, and I don't think they're lying,” replied Strike. “And this isn't the first time I look for a husband that goes missing and something bad has happened to him because he threatened someone. People tend to underestimate the ones they threaten.”

“Then look anywhere, anywhere at all. Even talk with my children if you want, alright? I'll go talk to them.”

“Thank you. And, Mrs Hampshire, I need for this to stay between you and I, the part of someone maybe being involved, of the threats, of him having uncovered something, all of that. No one else can know. I'll tell the police when I'm certain it won't screw things up.”

The woman left and Strike started opening drawers, checking papers, as he was also looking for any letter the woman's sister might've sent him. It took him until almost dinner time to check the entire house, all the bookcases, look for papers, drawers... all while wearing gloves and trying to rest his leg every now and then. The children knew nothing, said they hadn't seen their dad hide anything, and that their father wasn't home much, since he worked so much and then 'was out', where Strike assumed was the brothel. Strike had checked his schedule at his work and had seen the man did indeed work about nine hours every single day except Sundays.

Strike came back to the attic completely knackered and with his leg screaming bloody murder, and was happy to hear Rosie giggling and Robin singing and cooing at her while she made lunch with the baby against her hip.

“Hello! You look exhausted, how did it go?” Strike leaned to kiss her and Rosie and sighed long.

“Terrible,” Strike flopped on a stool. “But I found like fifty sheets of paper with marks like someone wrote on a paper on top, so I brought them to see if I can read them and find anything, if you fancy helping after dinner.”

“Would be my honour,” Robin poured him a beer and caressed his hair, kissing the top of it.

“Thank you, and you made dinner and all, you're so sweet,” Strike smiled at her, taking a long sip of beer and loving the feel of her fingers against his skull. “How was your day? What did you do?”

And Robin, reminding herself that with Strike she _could_ talk long about her cases and investigations, told him everything as she finished cooking dinner and poured them two well-filled plates, leaving Rosie to play. Strike chimed in the conversation to make noises of admiration and compliment her hard work and intelligence and skills, and Robin was feeling very chirpy by the time she sat down to eat. Then Strike took a long sniffle of the food.

“God, this smells phenomenal, how are you so good at everything?” Strike tasted the food and hummed in appreciation as he leaned back with his eyes closed. Robin looked amused at his reaction. “This is tremendously good, oh...” Strike said deeply, once he had gulped. Robin sniggered, shaking her head.

“Stop it, you're exaggerating!”

“Exaggerating?” Strike smiled at her. “Robin, exaggerating would be saying this is the best thing I've tasted in all my thirty-nine years of life when you've seen how Aunt Joan cooks, this is being sincere. You are an excellent chef, I'm serious. I better up my game or you'll leave me for someone else!” He added with a chuckle.

“I wouldn't!” Robin hugged him, kissing his cheek. “You're my big hairy bear, and no one else can top you.” Strike grinned, kissing her.

“Good, 'cause I'm not going anywhere. I love you Robin. You're the best person I've ever known and you amaze me every day. I was dying to come home to you.” Robin beamed, a gigantic grin from ear to ear, wrinkles in the sides of her eyes and her nose crinkling.

“You're so sweet,” she kissed him, “and so nice,” another kiss, “and lovable,” another, “kind,” another, “sexy...” a long kiss. “I don't ever want to be with anyone else.” Robin snuggled against him, sitting on his lap. “I'll just stay here forever like a monkey.” Strike chuckled, putting an arm around her.

“Will you mind if I eat your plate as well then? You know, so we don't throw food to waste...” he joked.

“Don't you dare!”

They spent until late deciphering messages on the papers, which was fun at first and exhausting later. They used techniques like phones, lighting or rubbing with a pen, between others, depending on how good the imprint was, and nearing one in the morning, Strike was resisting the urge to fall asleep when suddenly Robin squealed.

“Got it!” Strike jumped from his seat in excitement and rushed to read with her. The writer had been very pissed off and had written making such pressure out of anger, that it was perfectly readable. “ _Dear Carmella: I saw the documents regarding your fraud. You know what I'm talking about. I've saved them and I won't hesitate to talk to the police if you don't make things right. I can't believe you've stolen so much money from that poor people! The only reason I'm giving you the chance to amend things yourself and no one will ever have to know is because I don't want you to break Maggie's heart. But I still can't believe how could you do this? I trusted you, you're Maggie's sister! I'll give you two days to fix this and do the right thing, or I will tell for you. Elliott._ ” Robin read. “It's the letter you found, in full!”

“This is proof it was Elliott who wrote it. Dunno if it'll stand in court though... and we didn't find Carmella's answer.”

“Perhaps she never sent one.”

“Could be,” Strike sighed. “Well, we have something good. We know what might've happened. Tomorrow I'll bring this to the investigator in chief and they'll interrogate her, and in the meantime, I'm going to need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to infiltrate,” replied Strike. “Talking with Hampshire's co-workers today, I found the construction in which they are working needs all kinds of vehicles that they have right there, trucks and stuff, normal cars, all things. I need you to pretend to be someone from the ministry making an inspection to ensure the transports are safe due to some reports you've received on the company that rents them the vehicles, you're an excellent driver and you said you knew how to drive a tractor before you were ten, right? Should be easy if you need to drive to make it more believable, and you know a ton about vehicles to talk and play the part. Make sure they let you check all the vehicles on your own, as long as you want, and see if there's blood, if there is, take a picture. Or take pictures all over, say it's necessary so you can make a report to the ministry and ensure they're given top-quality vehicles. You can even ask them if they've had any issues, offer them compensations, you know.”

“It sounds really cool but... I've been over the newspapers. What if they identify me?” Strike thought about it.

“We will disguise you well.”

 


	22. Tossers vs genius

**Chapter 22:**

First thing in the morning, Strike rushed to a costumes' shop while he left Robin watching videos with Devonshire accent, and came back home a few hours later with a bag full of material and new business cards with the name Ilsa Burke, and they set to work. Robin sat and observed, impressed, how Strike expertly dyed her hair black, curled it, painted her eyebrows with dark make-up, and then, once she had, as he asked, put thick make up to 'make your face larger, dissimulate your big cheeks and make your eyes more Asian like', using YouTube tutorials, Strike expertly created her a fake nose with a special putty he had acquired, and then she reapplied make-up to make it all look even. When Robin looked at herself in the mirror, her jaw dropped. She couldn't recognise herself in the slightest, which was very weird.

“This is impressive! How did you learn this?”

“Years of living with a mum who loved Halloween and having to learn tricks from Ted and the army for the SIB,” Strike smiled, satisfied. “You look perfect, now put the suit on and speak to me in Devonshire accent, Ms Burke.”

Robin dressed and as she did so, she made Strike laugh to the point of laughter telling her the news with a Devonshire accent from the other room.

“But does it sound realistic?” Robin asked once she was ready and came out of the bedroom.

“Girl, it sounds like you've just spent a month in Devon, for real.”

Robin smiled and straightened her suit.

“Like what you see?” Strike puffed.

“I hate it. Your nose makes my stomach sink and your hair reminds me of a medusa,” Robin laughed out-loud. “Come on, do the awesome job you know and best of luck. Call me if you have any trouble, I'll accompany you with Rosie and we'll hang around the Olympic Stadium doing so tourism while you do your thing to be close if you're in danger. We don't know who we're dealing with.”

“Noted.”

Thankfully, Rose was deep asleep the entire way there, because Strike feared she would've cried if she had seen Robin. Luckily next time she saw her, Robin would be back to normal. The dye was temporal and went away with shampoo and water.

The plan went as they had programmed. Strike and Rosie did a good deal of tourism and at some point Strike received a call of a 'Sir, it's Ilsa Brooks, I finished the check-up and we may have to send a team to check one truck in depth' and they decided to meet at the underground station and headed home together. Then Robin took a long shower and when she came back, she was herself. On the way there, Robin had informed Strike that she had found nothing in the cars, but that one of them had a pick that according to the workers 'must've been forgotten in the trunk' with what to Robin looked like a minuscule stain of possibly, blood. So while Robin made the transformation back to herself, Strike went to Scotland Yard and came back two hours later to find Robin all herself the way he liked it.

“God, you look so stunning and smell so nice,” Strike said hugging her tightly. “And you've done such a phenomenal job...”

“Thank you,” Robin kissed him. “Doesn't it bother you the Met may find everything and take the merit?”

“I doubt it, the officer in charge is a jerk, like most of them, and was sceptical o all my findings. They'll interrogate the woman and register the construction site, but I doubt they'll get too far. We may be looking for a dead body now.”

“Shit... I hope it wasn't because we were gone...”

“No,” Strike sighed. “If he's dead, he's been dead for weeks. Possibly since the day he disappeared. Would be silly of that woman to keep him.”

“In any case, right now there's nothing more we can do, so we should go to bed, uh?” proposed Robin.

Strike agreed and once Rosie was properly tucked in her crib and kissed goodnight, Strike and Robin slid under the duvet. Strike usually did his best to stay in his actual bed, feeling the verge of his mattress to avoid rolling to the other side, and reminding himself that the beds were only pushed together for Rose's safety. However, since they were together Strike had allowed himself to come closer, snuggle, and Robin encouraged him. But since they were together they had never slept without Rosie between them. The baby girl often slept with them and only every now and then they left her in the crib, because everyone preferred sleeping together and both Robin and Rose were clingy. So now Strike looked at Robin in the darkness, wondering if it'd be alright to come closer.

“So?” Robin whispered after a moment of silence. “What are you waiting for?”

“What?” murmured Strike trying not to wake Rose.

“Cuddle me?” Strike grinned.

“Incoming.”

Strike rolled in bed and Robin chuckled, moving closer to him and wrapping an arm around him. Strike kissed her and pressed her closer and Robin breathed out in relaxation as she sank in his warmth and filled her nostrils with his scent. Strike always felt home to her.

Hours later Rose's squeals woke them up and Rosie stretched from Strike's chest as they looked at the baby perched on the crib fence stretching her tiny arms to try to reach the mobile suspended above her crib. The sun was shinning against the amethyst necklace tied to the mobile and reflecting light rays across the room, and it made her squeal.

“Look at our little dork,” Robin sniggered, sitting up in bed. “Good morning Rosie! Did you sleep well?”

Strike looked at Robin, amazed and not quite believing his ears, until Robin felt his glance and turned to look at him with a question in her eyes.

“You said 'our',” said Strike timidly. “I liked that...” Robin grinned.

“You're so silly, of course she's ours. I'm sure you're daddy to her.”

“I like how that sounds.” Strike admitted, earning himself an intense kiss.

“We haven't discussed that, actually,” said Robin a while later, picking up the thread as she got out of the bedroom after getting dressed, while Strike was trying to teach Rose the alphabet on the sofa, showing her a children's book.

“Sorry discussed what?” asked Strike looking up at her as he kept a firm arm around Rose, who stretched to grab onto the pages.

“Well, your part on Rosie's life,” said Robin looking a bit nervous, and she sat with them, sideways on the sofa to face them. “I was thinking in the shower and... Well, right now I am the only one with parental responsibility over Robin, legally, and it's a bit scary for me because what if something happens to me? I have a risky job sometimes, and there's Matthew who one day will be out of prison, and someone already tried to kill me before Matthew, two men in fact. So it's not like, a distant possibility. And if it happened,” Robin felt a knot in her throat just by thinking about it. Strike was observing her intently, his brows slightly furrowed. “There needs to be someone with parental rights over Rose. Someone other than me, you know? Someone who will make sure she's okay if something happens to me, because I don't want for her custody to be dancing between family members or the hell government says. And it would make the most sense if that someone else was you.”

“So you want me to apply for parental responsibility over Rosie? Robin, I have even more chances than you of dying—,”

“If you die before me I'll get someone else then, and if we die at once then, well, I did what I could, and come on I highly doubt we'll die at once.”

“Right, but don't you think there are other people more highly qualified? Stephen is already going to have a child, and he's young and close to you, kind, has a good job, wife's sweet... and your parents, and—,”

“None of them are nearly as close to Rose as you are. You are already family to her, look how she looks at you! She will always have three wonderful uncles and grandparents in Masham, but there's only one you. You have a special relationship with her, always have.”

“I know,” Strike sighed. “But come on, I'm hardly a functioning adult! Can you seriously imagine me alone taking care of anyone? I don't even have pets.”

“Of course, you take care of us. I don't understand, Cormoran, you liked the sound of being her dad, what's the problem?” inquired Robin with a look he knew well as the 'I'm indignant and what is this about'.

“The problem—! There's no problem, it's just—, well I—,” Strike sighed in frustration and then looked at Robin, who looked worried. “Robin, I know how to be a cool uncle because I had one awesome uncle myself, and if Rosie calls me Dad of course that'd be super sweet and it'd make me excited, but I'm not sure I will ever have what it takes to be a dad. Gee, I'm almost forty and I barely have my life together, it feels like too much responsibility and all... for someone who's never had a dad. For all I've been taught men are, most of the time, absolutely jerks. My life was absolutely saved by women, in the majority, perhaps you should just stick with female people for this. And don't take it wrongly, alright? Being Rose's dad would be the greatest life, and even more to have actual parental rights, but even though just calling me dad would be all fine, I'm not sure I'd be up to scratch for parental rights. That's a bigger thing.”

Robin's expression had softened as he spoke and now she looked at his flustered, lost-puppy expression with a soft smile and kind eyes.

“Cormoran, of course you're up to scratch,” Robin said with a honeyed voice. “All Rosie needs is you to keep being there when she needs it just like you've been for weeks now. Just love her. And if you can do that, then you're already deserving of everything good she brings you.”

Strike let a long breath out and looked at Rose as she played with her toys on the sofa, sitting between them.

“Alright,” Strike sighed, shrugging. “Truth be told, if something happens to you I don't think I could go and give Rose to someone else... But give me time before actually doing the paperwork, alright? Is a big thing for me.”

“I know. Thank you,” Robin leaned to kiss him. He smiled squeezing her knee with one big hand.

“And you know, if something happens, doesn't matter what law says. I will fight with all I've got to stay close in her life forever,” Strike promised. “I could never abandon her.”

Robin grinned, and they kissed again. They sat cuddling and playing with Rose for a while until it was time to go downstairs and work, and while Robin and Rosie occupied with cases, Strike tried to focus on Hampshire, worried that every minute he wasn't found he could be in serious danger. As he sat down at his desk, DI Daniels called him. It was de detective in charge of Hampshire's investigation.

“Strike?”

“Yes.”

“I'm only telling you this because Mrs Hampshire insisted. We interrogated Carmella Meek and registered the construction site you told us about. The blood found in the pick Detective Ellacott found has been compared with DNA of the Hampshire's children, and the coincidence indicates the blood belongs to one of their parents, and it's not a match with Mrs Hampshire's DNA, so it has to be Elliott Hampshire's,” said DI Daniels. Strike's breath caught in excitement. “None of the employees remembers having used it in the last few weeks, said they're in a moment of the construction where the pick isn't needed; just installing windows, doors, and covering the walls. And they have plenty more picks, so they didn't realize one had disappeared. They also said Hampshire shouldn't have been working with it, as he was in charge of the electrical system of the building they're with.”

“Did you find the letter?”

“No, Meek's office was way more neat now than in your pictures.”

“What did she say?”

“That she knows nothing. She says she has never seen your letter in her life, and that she's got no idea why that pick would have Elliott's blood, and she says she was at work when he went missing. The co-workers claim to have seen her indeed. Strike, the blood was old, he might've cut himself months ago for all we know.”

“And the pick got conveniently forgotten in the trunk? Sure!” said Strike full of sarcasm. “Look, something truly bad must've happened to him, you need to go and check all the transports for DNA, CCTV, get the dogs in the building to see if they smell traces of...”

“Don't be ridiculous, we won't be spending a ton of money on taking a construction site down just for a hunch! There's no further evidence. Good day, Strike.” And he hung up.

“You fucking dick!” Strike growled, smashing the phone down. Robin entered the room.

“What's wrong?” she asked, worried.

“The brainless tossers in the Met,” replied Strike, before proceeding to tell her all about the investigation. In the end, Robin looked lost in thought.

“I know you always say not to care about motive, but finding a reason was more than enough for police to go against Mrs Quine with full force,” said Robin. “Find a motive why Meek would do this, and they will focus on her while we keep investigating finding the truth.”

“You're a genius,” Strike looked satisfied at Robin, frustration washing off. “Second thing, you saw the pick, do you think she had the strength to...?”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “It didn't seem too heavy. And the blood was just a tiny bit, as if she had washed it and... of course!” She suddenly got an idea. “If she washed it the products have to be somewhere and you know where there are good cleaning products?”

“Construction sites,” Strike nodded excitedly. “Yeah, for what I saw they definitely have products to clean blood and all types of things, since you never know what you might dirty by accident in a building that must look like new. I think I've got the name of the dumping site they throw the trash in, perhaps we can find the cloth Meek used to clean the pick.”

“Exactly,” Robin smiled. “Find that and we have it. You get on with that, I'm going to see if I can find a motive. I'll pay a visit to Mrs Hampshire, perhaps we can bond from mother to mother.”

“You think she will speak against her sister?” Robin shrugged.

“Won't lose anything for trying.”

  
  


 


	23. All over

**Chapter 23:**

Strike got Shanker's help to look around the dumping site for hours. Luckily the trash stashed from construction sites was put aside because its components weren't to be thrown in the same places than food, so they could get right where the construction site trash was. It was mostly metal bars, cement, plastic bottles of chemical products, empty paint bucks and typical things one would find in a construction site, like glass. They found many cloths with holes and dirt, but none of them bloody and eventually, Strike called the search off.

After a long shower, Strike decided to check Meek's house, as it was evening now and she would be home. He knocked in and the woman almost closed the door as soon as she opened it and saw who he was, but Strike kept the door open.

“You've seen police is after your arse, Mrs Meek. They already put the wife of Owen Quine in prison before I found out who the true killer was just because she had a motive, if you haven't done anything only I can help you.”

Carmilla Meek glared at him but eventually, opened the door and let him in. Strike wasted no time showing her the photograph of the letter and the one of the paper with the marks that had helped acquire the missing parts of the letter.

“That won't stand in court,” said Meek.

“It stands for me, and you know if I put my eyes on someone, I catch them, eventually,” said Strike with severity. “You've seen my curriculum, Mrs Meek. I've got friends in the army or the police, you can either tell me truth so I can tell the judge you were collaborating with justice, or lie and when I find the truth, which I will, the judge won't believe anything you declare.”

“I haven't done anything wrong!” shouted Meek. “Elliott, he's a good man and a good father. For some weird reasons, he thought that I was involved in a huge case of fraud, alright? And he went all angry, sent me that, saying I had to make things right, but I spoke to him and proved to him I was innocent and he had it wrong. I told the police, they can investigate my accounts if they want to, I have nothing to hide. I want to find my sister's husband, she's broken-hearted!”

Strike frowned, caught by surprise.

“What is it that he found?”

“Nothing, he was awful at Math, saw my account books from the business, did the Math wrong and assumed I had stolen money. It was stupid, really.” replied Meek.

“So why did you get rid of the letter then?”

“I didn't even know you had seen it, my office was a mess, you saw, and I couldn't work there so I cleaned.” Strike frowned deeper. She seemed to be telling the truth and he felt really stupid. “Look, my sister was present when I cleared things out, you can ask her. It was two weeks before he went missing, alright? He confronted me with her.”

Strike's phone rang and excusing himself, Strike attended the call, that was Robin's. She seemed breathless.

“Cormoran, leave Carmilla alone. I think I know what happened, see you at the attic.”

Before Strike could answer, Robin hung up, so he apologized with Carmilla and rushed back to the attic. When he arrived, Robin was nursing Rose sitting on the sofa and looking exhausted. She had been gone for hours.

“What happened?” asked Strike.

“Maggie was heartbroken, completely shattered, so she invited me for tea and I decided to stay around, you know, I felt bad for her and she seemed better when Rose was being cute,” said Robin. “Then I couldn't find when to leave. But it was great I stayed because while I was there, Randy Crook, Meek's boyfriend...”

“She's got a boyfriend?!” Robin observed him. “Right, sorry, go on.”

“He came to visit and he was there for a couple hours. He was surprisingly caring and attentive with Maggie, he gave her a back rub and chatted with her softly, feed her... I got the impression that he feels for her. As in...”

“You think he loves her and not Meek.”

“Exactly,” Robin sighed. “I excused myself to speak with Hampshire's children, teenagers have so much perception right? So I asked if Randy was always like that with their aunt, and they said he had been having issues with Carmilla, that they were super cold... and that Elliott was jealous because he thought Randy wanted to sleep with Maggie. The teenagers said many times they heard arguments about them between the adults, when they thought they were asleep.”

“Blimey!”

“Sandy said Elliott was very worried right? Rather sad, and he wouldn't talk about his problems. What if he really thought Maggie was cheating, so he tried to do the same?”

“Perhaps he told Sandy about Randy and she didn't think it was important to mention. You're bloody good at this, Robin.”

She smiled and let Strike go call Sandy. Sure enough, Sandy told Strike she only knew about Randy that Elliott Hampshire hated him and was convinced he wanted to sleep with his wife, but that Margaret Hampshire said she wasn't in the slightest interested in Randy, that she only wanted Elliott. Sandy had suggested Elliott once, way before he went missing, that he'd tell his sister-in-law Carmilla Meek, but he wasn't so sure about it. Strike went and told Robin everything as he made dinner and Robin sat by him listening.

“We need to ask Carmilla if Randy had access to the pick, the construction site, and see if she can let us register his car,” commented Robin as they sat for dinner, Rose asleep in her crib.

“Exactly,” Strike smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand as he sat down. “See? This agency sinks without you.” Robin smiled softly, reaching to caress his bearded cheek.

“You just like letting me chime in your investigations,” Robin murmured, before leaning across the table and pressing their lips together. “By the way, I've got other set of unrelated good news.”

“Do you?” Strike looked pleased.

“Remember my family created a crowdfunding for us?” Strike nodded. “Well, I told them it was time to close it, that we're working again and all. So it was closed and the final amount we obtained is of ten thousand pounds.”

“You kidding!” Strike giggled. “That's wonderful! Let me get the good wine!” Strike grinned, happy for him and Rose. He wasn't planning on using much money from that, probably nothing, as he felt he was well off for now.

“That isn't all,” said Robin calmly, putting a hand on Strike's before he stood up. “My parents did the lottery and they won £770000,” Strike's jaw dropped. He didn't know what he'd do with so much money, and apparently neither did the Ellacotts, for what Robin said next. “They've decided to split it in seven equal parts of £110000. One for each of my siblings, one for my Uncle Aiden's family, one for themselves, and one for you. They called me when I was coming here to ask for the information to do the transference.”

Strike looked at her in disbelief. He opened and closed his jaw several times, opened his eyes a lot, then looked like a confused puppy and Robin giggled, caressing his face.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Your parents gave me a hundred and ten thousand pounds?” Strike asked with a chocked voice. Robin chuckled and nodded. “Are they nuts? That's-that's a bunch of money! What am I going to do with so much money? They should've kept it, how have they been so generous to share it with literally everyone? And in equal parts? Shouldn't they be receiving extra? I... oh...”

“Well,” Robin chuckled. “That's my parents for you. They said they felt happier to share it so we all could celebrate. My uncle has a farm with horses to maintain, and two children; Stephen is becoming a dad; Martin needs to finally go live on his own, make his dreams come true; and Jon is starting to make his own life after uni. I have a daughter to care for in a very expensive city, and you have sacrificed so much, it's only fair. They wanted nothing but erase all our worries at once, and they might have, right?”

“Robin, this... I've never had so much money in my bank account at once.” Strike confessed with damp eyes. Robin looked surprised.

“I know it's a lot of money,” Robin nodded. “I still can't believe it myself. But you were a SIB, come on, bet you made that every single year if not more.”

“No I didn't,” Strike shook his head, his throat dry. “Robin, tell your parents I can't accept it. Their family is one thing, but I... I'm just a detective, and I humbly can't accept that, it's too much, it's lovely, it says so much of who they are and I'm so thankful, and grateful and I appreciate it so much, but it's just...”

“Cormoran, don't be silly,” Robin brought his hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, holding it between her own. “You know Ellacott stubbornly, they're never backing down. They never wanted to be millionaires, they only bought the lottery because they wanted to help their family, knowing how many problems we're having. Stephen needs a brand new house just for the baby, you know? And Martin wants to be a musician, needs to go to music school, you know the money that costs? And my uncle's horses, well, that's not cheap.”

“So they can give them my part,” proposed Strike.

“Your part is yours, I already gave them the details while you were busy with dinner,” said Robin. “Don't be silly, do what that money all you always wanted, sweetie. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. Take the money, pay the Herberts for all they've done for you, I will do the same. Buy your nephews and Lucy and Greg something nice, and Joan and Ted, get that new prosthetic leg you wanted that is way more comfortable and allows much more mobility,” they had seen it on a medical magazine waiting for a doctors' appointment recently. “And perhaps, we could even get a nice house together. I was even thinking that we could join this attic with the office and, having a bigger office, we can hire someone else to help, now that cases are coming daily. I personally want to give Rose all she deserves; a big room to play and run when she knows how to walk, a garden so she can grow in the grass like we did, a good school were she can get a decent education so no one can ever manipulate her or control her life. And I know all your life you've known money issues. Now you can save-up so you never again have to worry about sleeping in the street in your life.”

Strike feel himself get more and more overwhelmed. He could get himself a new prosthetic leg that was more comfortable and allowed himself to walk longer periods of time or even run or swim or drive, one that he had seen had a smart ankle system that adapted to your steps so nicely he could climb the stairs or hills with much more comfort. It was a big higher maintenance but he was always very neat and organised and could care for it. They could get a big house, like those his friends had when he was little that he always felt very jealous of, one neat house with grass and a pool so Rose could learn how to swim with them in the summers, and with an office for them to work. He could buy Lucy that dress she had seen in Christmas and loved, and he could even buy Jack decent presents this year. Joan and Ted could even do the changes in their house they wanted to renovate their kitchen and fix the leaks they got in the winter.

Before Strike knew it, he wept against his hands.

“Oh, Cormoran!” Robin stood up and knelt next to his chair, hugging him the best she could. “It's okay,” she smiled, “those problems are over. They're all over.”

 


	24. Huge choices are easy with you

**Chapter 24: A million fortunes.**

That same night, Robin Skyped her parents and, along with Strike, they thanked them many times and talked about their ideas for saving. Michael and Linda were going on a long-postponed holidays in the summer, a romantic couple weeks in Norway to see the Northern Lights like they had always wanted; Stephen and Daisy would get a better house and a new car, save the rest for their son's University fund; Martin was buying a new guitar and a car and would try his luck either in Liverpool or London, he was still deciding; Jonathan and his boyfriend would buy a house in Masham, as Jonathan started working at the school there.

The next day, Strike called Nick and Ilsa to tell them they had a surprise planned and when could they all go to the OXO tower restaurant for dinner. It was baby friendly and Nick asked if he had fallen onto ten thousand pounds or something, but Strike just cheerfully laughed and they decided it could be that night, if Strike managed reservations. He surely did, and went off to visit Carmilla Meek again, this time filled with an air of cheerfulness and optimism. On his way there, Strike kept thinking of what he was going to do with so much money. He definitely wanted to save at least £50000 for emergencies and future investments, and his new leg was a must; this one was so old and he was getting old and it was no longer so comfortable, and the new one would be about ten thousand quid, so that'd be his first major investment. That would leave him with a remaining £50000, and he didn't want to spend it all too fast, but he did want to spread it with his family, not being miserly. Strike figured he would share all the money he wasn't spending on the new house, the fixings he knew the office needed (and he was seriously considering Robin's suggestion of unifying his office with the attic) and he wanted to buy the properties instead of continue to rent them. He hated thinking Steve O'Gaylor could decide to take it all away anytime. Strike also wanted to do one special buy; an engagement ring for Robin. So he secretly wanted to put money aside for the wedding and engagement, because he knew, after over a year and a half waiting to find Robin, that he wanted to spend his life with her.

Strike was good at Math and did his mental calculations while he went to Meek's house. Robin and I would want a place near the office, and a car, since they so often needed it for work. Robin would want a nice car, could be twenty thousand quid at least but they didn't have to pay it all at once for sure, and same with the house. A house with garden couldn't be close. He was getting a headache. Well, Strike decided not to overwhelm himself; The house would come first, the car wouldn't be a priority for now, and he decided he could comfortably pay his friends ten thousand quid for now, Robin would pay them as well after all, so together it would make a nice amount, and then he'd give his sister five thousand or so, and same to his Cornish family. It wasn't much, but Strike knew that even though he now had a ton of money, he also had a bunch of expenses to make, big ones, to make his precarious lifestyle better, and care for a baby. Their business was also urgently calling for a new secretary that would need a family, and a bigger office.

“Good morning Ms Meek. I'm sorry again for yesterday,” said Strike with a peaceful smile and the woman nodded and sighed, letting him inside the house. “My partner and I have news about your brother-in-law's investigation, we think we may know what happened.”

“Oh, thank God!” Meek looked visibly relieved. “Please tell me he's alright.”

“I'm afraid he might not be,” Meek saddened and flopped on the sofa.

“My sister... her kids... that family deserves so much better...” the woman murmured sadly. Strike sat on an armchair.

“Is your boyfriend here now?” asked Strike.

“Randy? No... he's a bus driver, he's at work,” said Meek. “His schedule is very unpredictable.” Strike nodded slowly.

“You see, Ms Meek, we've met with a few people close to your family who have told us Randy... well, that he fancies your sister more than you.” Meek let a long sigh out, defeated, but didn't argue. “Isn't that a surprise then?”

“No,” she shrugged. “I always saw how he looked at her. Randy was Maggie's boyfriend in high school, you know? I normally don't date my sister's exes, but Randy... I was so in love with him that, a couple years ago, when he confessed his feelings for me... I was exuberant. But then I saw how he looked at her and I understood he just wanted her closer but... I'm all alone, Mr Strike. I just settled with the one who liked me.” Strike nodded, honestly sad for her. “Maggie told me I should leave him and find someone good enough for me, someone who deserves me, in her words. She likes Randy, thinks she's a nice man... but she's so in love with Elliott, she'd never cheat.”

“Unfortunately, Elliott did. He cheated on your sister with a brothel worker,” that did shock Meek, whose jaw dropped and eyes widened.

“How does he dare?!”

“I spoke with the woman in question; she despised cheaters and chastised him for such, but told me Elliott told her he was in love with Maggie, that he just... had a bit of a fifties crisis, needed to feel he could still be desired between the young,” compassionate lies. “However, she also told me Elliott was very angry at Randy, jealous he was always so close with his wife. He wanted to confront him, but never had the guts. Ms Meek, I think Elliott either found the courage and Randy hurt him, or that Randy found out he was cheating on the woman he truly wanted and decided to punish him for it. Randy works with transports, it would've been easy for him to take Elliott away, and my partner's met him and thinks he's got the strength. Furthermore, he had access to your job, right? To that pick.”

Meek frowned and paled.

“Oh my God... now that you mention it... Randy's got a truck, he's a big countryman, so it suits him, he goes to visit his family in the countryside often. His father worked in a mine, so he's used to picks, and he came to visit me at the construction site the day after Elliott was last seen. He said he wanted to see me in action, I thought perhaps he was getting more into me...” Meek let a long sigh out. “He asked me for permission to take a pick, said he wanted to help his father with something at town, I said sure, and the next day he returned it. I didn't see him do so, and I didn't think it was the same that was found by your partner, but it might've been.”

“Do you think he could've hurt Elliott?” Meek looked about to crumble in tears.

“I... I don't know what to think, Mr Strike...”

“Did you see any blood on Randy?”

“No...” Meek shook her head. “Although there's this jumper that's disappeared. I haven't seen it in about as much as I haven't seen Elliott.”

Strike called Robin to investigate the house where Randy's parents lived and speak with them to see if he had really used the pick there. He also asked Meek for Randy's toothbrush so police could compare his DNA with all that was found in the bloodied pick, and then Strike went on to register Randy's car, parked in the driveway. Surely enough, he found it had been neatly cleaned, but in the glove compartment, he found a wedding band that had surely belonged to Elliott, since inside it read 'I will love you forever' – Maggie. Shortly after, Robin called Strike to inform him that Randy's parents had died a month before Elliott had gone missing and the house had gone to Randy. The house was in Hampstead, a twenty minute tube trip from Denmark Street, so Robin had gone and asked questions and apparently a neighbour could witness one day that could've been when Elliott was last seen, they had seen Randy and Elliott enter the house together.

That was enough and Strike called the police. The police took Randy's car to register and went to Randy's family house to find if there were any traces of Elliott and speak with the witness. Before any results of analysis or testifying came up, they found Elliott Hampshire's putrefied body in the attic of Randy's family house. A couple hours after the finding, Randy confessed to the police that Elliott hadn't been worthy of Maggie and so he had taken him to his house to 'talk' and had killed him.

“Poor Maggie and Carmilla,” said Robin sadly, lying on the bed, as Strike lied next to her, telling her all the details while Rose took a nap. It was late in the afternoon and they'll soon have to get ready for dinner with their friends.

“Yeah,” Strike sighed. “Can't say I don't get it though; I would've killed Matthew if you wouldn't have hated me for it.” Robin smiled sadly, rolling to snuggle against him.

“We're together now, that's what matters,” Robin kissed him softly. “So, we have a cheque on the table with a space to write a number. I was thinking, since we got a joined account for the house and office and I told my family to put the money there, we should put the cheque from both of us. A joined amount.”

“That's a good idea... But before we know what to give to them... do you really want us to see that money as joint? Not mine or yours, our.”

“I'd like to, yes,” Robin shrugged. “Unless it's not what you want.” Strike smiled.

“I think it's a great idea. I've been thinking a lot,” said Strike. “I want to stick with you, Robin. I want us to get a house together. When Charlotte and I looked for houses once, I saw that Battersea has these beautiful houses with garden... and it's close enough to work. They're a bit expensive, but we could pay it in a few years, with the amount of clients we get daily, even more if we go ahead and spend money on making our office bigger. But I don't know if... we haven't been together for long, are we being too crazy getting a nice house together? Most people do that when they get engaged...”

“I think it's a bit crazy but I think our situation is not most people's,” commented Robin, playing with his hair. “I don't want to wait a minute more to give Rose the house she deserves. She needs a place to heal, somewhere calm away from the loudness of the city, where she can relax and fully recover, and so do I. Somewhere nice to go home to after a full day of work. Somewhere with garden, that's a must since she can't be in Yorkshire, and somewhere where she can have a pretty bedroom and we can have a guest house to invite family over. Joining our efforts and finances, we can do it. And you love me and I love you, nothing else matters, right? We've always been a team for years.”

“Yeah,” Strike kissed her, enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressed together. After a while they separated. “So here's the deal... We have £220000. Let's put £100000 aside for the house deposit and other initial spendings of it like furniture, alright?” Robin nodded, knowing of them, the one who knew more about buying houses in London was definitely Strike. “Then, we will put £30000 aside, in savings for our future together. That includes, the possibility of having economical issues, and the expenses of Rose's education. We will keep putting a small amount of money there every month and hopefully when Rose finishes her mandatory education, there'll be a good amount we can give her to figure out how she wants her adult life to be, University if she wants to, or anything else.”

“That sounds great,” Robin smiled. It warmed her inside to see how Strike was already thinking on how to provide for Rose's education and future so one day she had a better choice than they did to decide her future.

“That would leave us with £90000. Of that, I propose we give Nick and Ilsa £25000 to compensate twenty months of caring for me and then for you and Rosie, plus the fact that they had to buy a new house just for me, and for their kindness and selflessness. I know they did it out of friendship, but I also know Nick had to work many extra hours to face the increment of their expenses, and I saw the bags under their eyes and the stress in their faces every day. I know it was an awful time for them and I haven't stopped feeling guilty.”

“That's reasonable,” Robin nodded. “They deserve more but, that's good. That's something they can accept.”

“Yeah... so that'd leave us with £65000. My suggestion, if you agree, is to leave £30000 to do the office stuff only once we're completely settled in the new house to work from there while we have constructions here. We need a bigger office and we need to hire a secretary. We have too much work for two people now. Then, there's £35000. I would really need the leg, and I've gone into the internet, looked around, called my doctor... it wouldn't be more than £20000. The final £15000, I propose we just save them for our daily life.”

Robin listened closely, did the Math in her head, and nodded slowly.

“That's good,” Robin nodded. “Yeah, I think that's pretty good plan. Good job, genie.” She kissed his cheek proudly. “So let's write that cheque and get ready for dinner.”

They got ready and woke Rose up from her nap putting a dress on her and getting fancy, and left. As they travelled by train, Strike elbowed Robin playfully and winked.

“When have you ever worn the green dress?” She blushed and bit her lip.

“Haven't had the occasion yet. But,” said Robin. “I managed to keep it from Matthew's harm, because one of the times I went home for dress fitting I handed it for my mum to keep for now, because it made Matthew angry just to see it. So it's still there.” Strike nodded, keeping Rosie firmly held in his lap.

“That dress fits you really well too,” said Strike, nodding towards the red dress she was wearing. “You'd be beautiful with a bag as well though.” It felt so liberating for Strike to be able to freely compliment Robin, and it made both of them blush.

“You're so sweet, thank you,” Robin squeezed his thigh. “I must admit I find you particularly sexy when you wear a suit.”

“Really?” Strike side smiled. “I will have to wear them more often then.” Robin giggled.

They got out of the tube really fast at Waterloo Bridge – Southbank and walked by the riverside through a pedestrian way, enjoying the view. This time Robin was armed with a black blazer and a scarf, and Strike had his long coat, so they walked comfortably warm, pushing the stroller in which Rose was tucked with a blanket and her penguin. As Strike pushed it, Robin held onto his arm, comfortable. It was weird but nice to celebrate a case going to have dinner with their best friends as a couple, just walking like that made Robin's heart flutter.

“Have you realised no one knows we're dating yet?” commented Robin casually as they passed ITV Studio B at their right, with the river to their left. Strike hadn't realised, as excited as he had been about other things, and he hummed.

“Guess we have a lot to celebrate tonight then,” he said cheerfully, smiling at her with such glee she felt warm inside.

“We're very serious, aren't we?” commented Robin, trying to sound casual and not anxious. “I mean, we've hardly been together for days, and... well... we're already compromising in so much. Owning a big business together, buying a great house together... living together... not going to fast at all.

“Of course we're going super fast,” Strike conceded. “But Robin, 'too' is only related to who are in this. You and I are two serious people who don't fool around with serious things, and you weren't going to let Rose be around any man, and I wasn't going to let myself be in an inconvenient relationship again. So of course we're very serious and very compromised, and risking a lot because if this fails our jobs and living arrangements will totally crumble, but maybe that way we'll make a bigger effort to make things work, even though, I've always considered our relationship very effortless.”

“Me too,” Robin smiled. “It always amazes me how little it cost me to get used to living with you. Is as if it was meant to be.”

“Right?” Strike smirked. “I feel the same way. I've always been so independent and it was so hard to give that away... but not with you. With you it just feels... like I'm a part of something bigger. Something special.”

“Have you realized how easily we've made all these huge choices?” Robin realized. “Most people argue so much about these things... But we didn't. We had ideas, shared them, agreed... no fights.”

“Finding a house may be another thing though,” Strike chuckled. “But you know what? If it is with you, I'm up to the adventure. All this time with you being away... Matthew is the cruelest monster, but truth be told, he made me realised I can't live without you. It was the twenty longest months of my life and I missed you so badly... I understood how hard I felt for you. And I understood I could never let you go, once I found you. You've been all that was in my mind since we met, one way or another, and since your wedding... You've occupied 90% of my mind and 100% of my heart.”

“That is so sweet, how are you so wonderful uh?” Robin stopped to kiss him, putting her arms around him.

“'Cause you deserve it,” he said after the kiss.

“If we're being honest,” Robin shrugged timidly. “I lived the same way. I just wanted to be back with you. Every time I thought about coming home, I thought of you, our job, my family... that's home. That's always been home. And every time I talked with Rose about you... I slowly but steadily realised that I didn't feel for Matthew. That it was just you. I mean, under normal circumstances I'd like to be a period single and wait a long time before compromising so seriously with someone after all that happened, but my heart just made a choice with you. There was nothing to choose it just... in my heart, not being with you hurt. And I understood I didn't need to be single to feel powerful and independent because you have always pushed me to be powerful and independent. I didn't have to sacrifice anything to be with you, and you were always going to encourage me to achieve everything I wanted and be my best. That's why I'm not afraid about the speed... with you I always feel it's going to be alright.”

“And it will be,” Strike kissed the top of her head. “I promise you. I would never try to cut your wings.”

“I know. Just like you know I'd never force you to work less or be more...” Robin rolled eyes. “A cheesy prince, when you're a soldier and that's what you're always going to be. My big, hairy warrior who eats like a bear and is home late and drinks too much and watches a lot of football. But I don't see why removing any of those things would make me love you more.” Strike grinned from ear to ear.

“God, I'm so fucking lucky!” Robin laughed and some people turned to look at Strike as if he was just crazy, but he simply laughed and kept strolling. He truly felt the luckiest.

****  
  


 


	25. I'm her Dad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, 10 requests and part 2 will be updated. Thanks!

**Chapter 25:**

Their table was next to the windows with amazing views of the Thames, in a discreet corner where the Herberts were already waiting. They sat, and Strike put the stroller by his side so he could keep an eye on Rose. He had reserved the table asking for a place where they could put two carriages and the corner was great, because they kept the strollers there, right next to their table, between the wall, the windows and themselves, so they could constantly watch the kids. The twins were already asleep as well, with the exception of Kenzie, who sat on her mother's lap looking through the window. Everyone looked very fancy and conversation flowed easily, and when Strike calmly asked for a full bottle of Chardonnay to share -which he hadn't done since he was a SIB-, his friends looked at him as if he was completely nuts.

“Oggy, that wine is £75!” Nick hissed, alarmed. Strike smiled.

“So?” Strike inquired. Ilsa frowned.

“How well are you being paid by this murder case, exactly?” wondered Ilsa. Robin and Strike laughed.

“Come on, don't be evil, tell them,” Robin encouraged Strike. He beamed and nodded.

“Robin and I just got a big cheque,” he said in a low voice, making sure no one was listening nearby. “The crowdfunding came to an end and it was ten thousand, but then Robin's family have given us a hundred and ten thousand... each.” He saw Nick and Ilsa's surprise and after they initial shock they beamed, not envious and very happy for their friends, and congratulations followed just as they had about the case, of which they had heard on the news.

Strike and Robin then answered their many questions about what was their plan with the money and told them exactly what they were doing with it, save for the part where they gave the Herberts a part, and their friends considered that they were reasonable, good expenses and were happy for them, knowing that were much-needed, long-postponed expenses. Strike had been limping for a while with his old leg, and the new one would change his life to give him a level of mobility and comfort very close to the one he had had before losing half a limb, and they were living in a microscopic attic and would benefit, even more their healths, from living in a big house and making their business better. It really wasn't wasting money; they were just people with special life conditions that required an impressive amount of economical investment. They had barely been holding up for the past three years, always worrying about money, and in Strike's case, for practically his entire life, and since the Herberts knew, they were thrilled.

“You're going to be even happier though,” said Strike after it. “Guys, Robin and I have considered that what you did for us was something we will never repay you for enough. In one side, you've always been there for me, very selflessly. Every single time I've needed money, or a room, or anything at all, you've given it without expecting anything in return, and in these past few year and a half, it has cost you so much money. I've seen you struggle to maintain us all and still encourage me to keep going and not feel guilty and just being sweet and kind and loving, and the same with Robin. What you've done... it's invaluable, and if it wasn't because we really need to face big expenses now and make sure we can give Rosie all I never had as a child and all she deserves, I'd gladly give you my hundred and ten thousand, you know? And I still would feel it isn't enough.”

“Come on Oggy, don't be silly...” Nick said with a smile. “You know we're all family, you'd do anything for us, you've always shared with us even the littlest you've had...”

“We've done some Math,” intervened Robin. “We wanted to save a bunch because it feels our situation is always so precarious, and it would help sleep at night. And you've heard our plans, there isn't really anything that we could just say let's not do it, because there's no need. The minute Rose starts walking, which should be happening this year, we simply won't fit in the house anymore. And we have so much work and waiting lists... we're overwhelmed, and we can't reject the money, because we still need it, since this is so fragile. Even know, something like Laing would absolutely end us, and we need a good amount in savings to prevent for that. We cannot take anything for granted. And so we need, urgently, to fix the office, because we could never get another in such good zone cheap enough, and buying our office and attic and uniting them is going to be cheaper in the end, is the best solution. It has to be bigger. But we've decided we will still do fine without another twenty five thousand pounds... that we want to give you both, and don't even try to reject it.”

“Yes, it's a definite choice,” affirmed Strike. “Let us compensate all the money you've lost, even if it's just this tiny bit. I'm sure it'll be enough to cover for the kids first few years of education at least, right? And we'd feel much less guilty than we feel.”

Ilsa and Nick exchanged a tiny smile and then they nodded, looking sweetly at them.

“Only for the kids,” said Ilsa. “Thank you guys. It's very kind of you, we know your situation hasn't been easy and these expenses were long overdue. But you'll always have a home with us, okay?”

“Thank you, and you know, now that we're getting a house, there'll be a room for you in any case.” Said Strike.

“Actually, right now is a pretty good moment to get some extra pounds...” commented Nick looking at Ilsa, who blushed.

“You know how the people who have absolutely no interest in having a kid gets one so easily?” Ilsa casually commented, and they nodded. “Well, we didn't have a kid trying for like twenty years so we were a little careless now and... I'm three months and a half pregnant. Can't notice much with the pounds the twins gave me, but it's there.”

Strike and Robin hurried to excitedly congratulate them and, as they drank wine and waited for their orders, as Ilsa could drink one glass of wine without problems, they confessed they were a bit scared about having three kids so young, but still felt blessed, and Strike and Robin quickly offered to help or babysit when needed, once they had a house.

“An autumn baby, aw...” Robin was happy for them. “Seems like tonight is going to be full of celebrations then.”

“Let's toast again, this is such an awesome night,” Strike proposed, and they laughed, nodding and lifting cups for the third time that night.

They shared a plate of 'Scottish langoustines, squid, tomatoes and fennel' while waiting for the rest of their orders. Since Strike and Robin were inviting, they encouraged them to ask for anything they wanted, no matter the expense. Just for one night, they wouldn't worry about money.

“Can I just say Corm's necklace looks so nice on you?” Ilsa commented then, pointing to Robin's necklace of amethyst lightly.

“Thank you!” Robin grinned. “It was a sweet gift from Cormoran when we were in Cornwall, and can I just say, I don't know if this hippy idea that they have healing properties is true but I do sleep much better and feel way calmer.”

“Actually, Robin's is mum's,” said Strike. “Mine is now Rosie's, since the cord was shorter. We have it hung from her mobile, and she also seems to be doing better, right?”

“Yeah,” Robin nodded. “She was having a bunch of nightmares, taking many naps because she just didn't wake up rested, and lately she looks better, happier. Today she was just playing so hard all day she was tired.”

“That's really nice,” Nick commented. “We bought the kids, when they were newborns, these drops that you put in the pillow and it's supposed to calm you down. We all used them for a while because they were born a bit premature and it was hectic and made us all very scared and nervous, it was so stressing, and with that we managed to feel better with the weeks, right?” Ilsa nodded in agreement. Robin realised then she knew nothing of those times, because she wasn't there.

“Oh, was there a problem with them?” asked Robin with worry.

“Not really,” Ilsa shrugged. “They were growing really fast, we have to show you the pictures and videos, they were huge when they were born, Kenzie was perhaps the smallest, and still she was big,” Ilsa looked fondly at the little girl devouring a piece of langoustines with curiosity on her lap, “so it was making me very uncomfortable, it felt like I was going to explode and I couldn't move from the bed and I was only eight months, it was crazy. They didn't have space either, so it was getting risky for them and for me, and no one thought there was a chance we could hold on the weeks left to their due date, it was just too much and we were risking a dangerous labour. So, the doctor induced the labour, but I lost a lot of blood and things got a little dramatic. All I remember is pushing them out, losing conscience and when I woke up I had two wonderful, beautiful babies, although we had to leave them in the NICU for some days to ensure they were alright, which was why it got particularly stressing. Nick was the most traumatized by the experience.” She empathetically kissed his cheek, squeezing his hand. She knew it was still difficult to think about it for him.

“It was fucking scary,” admitted Nick. “Thought they were all gonna die. Hopefully this one will be way better, is only one, we don't know the gender yet, but it looks pretty healthy.”

“And I'm not a newbie anymore,” added Ilsa. “They do advice not having babies after forty, but hey, I'm only thirty-nine so...”

Robin emphasized with them; she hadn't had it easy with Rose either, in the slightest. Although the labour process had gone very swiftly, she had felt very lonely and very scared and powerless through the whole thing, thanks to Matthew.

Their dishes came and as they ate, they kept talking, the babies woke up so they fed them, and things felt easy and comfortable. They talked about the trip to Cornwall, caught up, the typical things. And then it came up. Strike was handing Rose to Robin and, in automatic, Robin just turned and kissed Strike on the cheek, almost on the lips, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and none of them even flinched, keeping on with the conversation like nothing was up.

“You two are together!” Nick and Ilsa exclaimed at unison. Strike and Robin realised of what had happened and smiled, nodding.

“No kidding! For how long?” Nick asked grinning.

“Uhm, about three weeks or so,” replied Robin. “It really hasn't been long.”

“Cornwall is just such a lucky charm,” added Strike, happily putting an arm around Robin and Rosie and kissing Robin on the forehead. Robin smiled, looking sweetly at him. “Haven't told anyone yet.”

“Aw...” Ilsa grinned. “You guys are so cute, congrats!”

“It was long overdue,” commented Nick. “Definitely this is the best night! So the house, you're buying it as a... family?”

“That's the plan,” replied Strike with a nod. “Save the 'it's too fast' part, we're set on stone and you guys are the perfect example of speeding things up, married at twenty-three.”

“Love is love,” Ilsa beamed. “We don't have to give two grown-up adults the talk, I just hope you know what you're doing. If you go into Rosie's life, you can't play with that.”

“And I won't. I've thought long and deep, and I would really like to father Rosie, even if we broke-up. I care for her as if she was my daughter.”

“Every time I hear you say that, I swear I could cry,” said Robin emotionally, looking lovingly at Strike, who smiled giving her a peck on the lips.

“I mean it. I had a dad who abandoned actual children, and I'll be the dad of someone whose biological dad doesn't deserve the honour of calling her daughter,” said Strike very seriously. “Besides, even if we've been together for so little... The feelings have been deep for very long. We'll build a home for Rose and if anything goes wrong and we break-up... we'll still be a family and we'll still find the way to be close friends, for Rosie and for ourselves, like we've been for long. I'm too old for stupid stuff.”

“That's how I want to hear you talk,” Ilsa chuckled. “Well, tell Lucy soon because she's going to be very very excited.”

“Can't wait for Christmas,” Nick grinned. “Three babies, these two being cute with their new house... shit's gonna get even better, and I didn't think it was possible.”

They couldn't help but just being happy.

 


End file.
